


Bucky Barnes and the Christmas Miracle

by acaseofthemondays



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, WinterShock - Freeform, because I have no self control, fake boyfriend for Christmas trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaseofthemondays/pseuds/acaseofthemondays
Summary: Darcy needs a fake boyfriend for Christmas. Bucky is the only one available.Thats it. That's all you need to know.





	1. You Can't Choose Your Family But Thank God You Can Choose Your Fake Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just gotta write a trope filled holiday fic, ya know? To really get in the holiday spirit.

“Listen up, Barnes. I’m gonna be straight with you. I need you and I need you for your smokin’ hot bod.” 

Bucky swallowed the mouthful of spaghetti he’d just shoveled into his face, barely escaping choking on it, before glancing up at the little brunette. The little stacked brunette who he was pretty sure was propositioning him right there in the communal kitchen in front of God, Steve, the microwave, and everybody. 

“Excuse me?” he managed to mumble once his mouth was clear of noodles. 

The dame- Darcy, he was pretty sure was her name- had the decency to blush and realize what she had just said to him. She closed her eyes and waved her hands through the air as if she could erase the fact that she had essentially just made an indecent proposal to a man that she hadn’t said more than three words to. Not that she’d had much opportunity to. Bucky had only moved into the upstate facility three months ago and had been trying to keep mostly to himself and out of everyone’s way. 

“Okay, strike that. That came out wrong.” She took a steadying breath and opened her eyes. “Look, have you ever had a really annoying relative that has spent the entirety of your life ruining every family function by rubbing in just how superior they are to you in every single way, thus justifying to everyone in your family that they deserved to be your racist and obscenely rich grandma’s favorite?” 

Bucky blinked slowly at her, completely thrown by the direction this incredibly odd and one sided conversation was going. Natasha took that moment to brush past Darcy, pressing a kiss to the brunette’s cheek. 

“Milaya, start at the beginning. And breathe. Yasha has no idea what you’re asking,” she muttered before breezing past to refill her plate with a healthy portion of spaghetti from the platter sitting out on the island for the team. 

“Right,” Darcy muttered slowly. “Okay, so, my cousin Nancy is a total and complete cu-“ she cut herself off with a quick glance at Steve who was leaning against the kitchen counter next to Bucky, hiding a highly amused smirk behind his plate of spaghetti. “Um, let’s just say she’s a witch of a woman and dead set on getting me cut out of the will and/or humiliating me to death at every family function. She may or may not have started a rumor that I am in fact a lesbian in order to enrage my witch of a grandma in order to do so. Now, I have no problem with lesbianism or burying my face in a nice pair of tits but goddamnit I’m gonna need that inheritance money if I’m ever going to pay off my student loans and if I show up at one more family function without an attractive male as my plus one, the lesbian rumor is gonna stick and I’m gonna get my ass cut right out of the will.” She sucked in a huge gulp of air at that impressive fount of words before continuing shyly, “which is where you come in, pretty boy.” She eyed him speculatively, her brow cocking up as she judged his reaction. 

“I’m...I’m sorry, but what?” He didn’t need a mirror to know his eyebrows were joining his hairline for some kind of spastic dance of incredulity. 

“I need you to come be my fake boyfriend for Christmas.” 

Now Bucky really did choke. His throat closed up over his own spit and he couldn’t decide if he should be laughing or yelling, because  _ what the hell? _

“Miss, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you may have a couple screws loose,” he finally managed to utter once his coughing fit had subsided. Her face flushed slightly in a combination of anger and embarrassment and he winced at his own tactless fumbling. If he’d ever been a smooth talker, those days were long gone. Despite that, he rushed to soothe her by sputtering out an apology. 

“No- I, no that came out wrong. What I  _ mean _ is that why  _ on earth  _ would you choose...me? We don’t even know each other and I’m-” he swept a hand over himself with his decidedly inhuman arm, “-me?”

Her expression softened to something less angry and more shy. “Well, for one, you’re fine as all fuuu- uh. Fudge. Fine as fudge.” She glanced at Steve and then back to him. “And you’re an Avenger, so like, a national hero and  _ so _ much better than Nancy’s awful surgeon husband that she likes to flaunt every time I see her. Also, you’re the only single Avenger and the only one that, as far as I can tell, doesn’t have sexytime Christmas plans.” 

“Sexytime Christmas plans?  _ What?”  _

“You know, where you spend the holidays with your significant other with, like, full nudity the entire time? From what the rest of the team has told me, that seems to be on everyone’s agenda. And who am I to even attempt to disrupt that much beautiful, superhuman, naked glory? Just this morning Nat told me that she’s planning on celebrating Christmas by tying a big red bow on Sam’s  _ dmmf-”  _ Darcy stopped mid sentence, her mouth suddenly full of spaghetti and Natasha’s hand on the fork that had put it there.

Natasha flashed the other woman a deadly smile before walking away, satisfied that Darcy would keep the spider’s secrets a little better. Darcy chewed quickly and swallowed before mumbling an apology to Nat’s retreating back. She turned back to Bucky and opened up her mouth to say God knew what else, but stopped when he raised his palm up. 

“Please. I could live another hundred years without hearing about what my teammates get up to in their free time and be happy about it,” Bucky pleaded. Steve mumbled in agreement beside him. He could see she was about to say something else so hastened to add, “I’ll do it. I’ll be your...boyfriend.” 

_ “Really?!”  _ The word was layered with Darcy’s high pitched squeal and the low rumble of Steve’s disbelief. 

Bucky glanced from his oldest friend to the pretty little thing bouncing on her toes in front of him. “Yeah,” he replied quietly, then ducked his eyes to his plate of spaghetti again. The intense happiness pouring out of her blue eyes was a bit much for him and he could feel his ears growing hot. He could feel Steve staring at him open mouthed and felt the need to justify his answer. “That Nancy sounds like a real bitch,” he grunted and then shoveled another forkful of pasta into his mouth. 

He heard Darcy snort inelegantly. “Seriously, dude, you have no idea.” This was followed by a moment of quiet and then,  _ “Hey!  _ You can’t curse in front of Captain America!” 

Steve burst out with a gut busting laugh, his arm flinging out to swat Bucky on his left pec. Bucky may have smirked into his plate. Just a little bit. 

***

“So I think the best way to approach this whole  _ thing _ is to basically treat it like a mission. With parameters and personas and definitely exit strategies in case things go sideways. Because that is a definite possibility with my family.” 

Bucky sat across from Darcy at the same kitchen island that she had propositioned him at the week prior. He had his hands wrapped around a mug of tea, something soothing to calm his nerves that came highly recommended by Dr. Banner. Darcy had her own mug that she was waving around and was in danger of sloshing coffee over the side with each wide swing of her expressive hands. He could hear her foot jiggling against the rung of her barstool and he wondered if perhaps she should lay off the coffee just a little bit. 

“Well?” she asked. 

“Um. Sure?” 

She rewarded his assent with a blinding smile that stunned him slightly in its intensity. 

“Okay great. Let’s start with parameters involving physical intimacy. What exactly are comfortable with?” 

Buckys eyes bulged out of his head as he blurted out, “No sex!” 

She cocked her head to the side and arched a brow, looking at him like he was a total idiot. Which, to be fair, he sure as hell felt like one at the moment. 

“Obviously  _ that _ is not on the table. I’m talking about physical intimacy around my family. PDA levels and whatnot. Like are you cool with handholding? Couch snuggles? Cheek kisses? Mild ass groping?” She paused to sip from her coffee, a light blush riding over the tops of her cheeks. 

“Giving or receiving?” It was the first thing that his brain could spit out. 

“Um, both?” Darcy gave a half shrug, the movement shifting the neckline of her sweater to slide over one pale shoulder. She tugged the material back into place with nimble fingers. Bucky drug his eyes away from the action to meet her gaze. 

“Those-“ he cleared his throat, “those things seem…fine. I’ll warn you though, I don’t like being touched much by people I don’t know well. If you’re gonna...if you’re gonna do something, move slow and make eye contact first,” he mumbled and ducked his head to glare into his mug. 

He heard her whisper a soft  _ oh _ and then from his peripheral he caught her hand gliding slowly across the countertop between them. She ducked her head and met his eyes, lips ticked up in a soft smile before lightly wrapping her hand around his wrist, her thumb rubbing warm little circles over the back of his hand. 

“Like this?” she murmured, voice tender enough to make him want to either run and hide or crawl into her damn lap. He nodded sharply and returned to staring at his mug, purposefully calming the stutter of his heart in his chest. She withdrew her hand and he took a slow, somewhat shaky inhale before glancing back up at her. 

She looked conflicted, her full lips pursed and brows furrowed. The hand that had touched him tugged restlessly at her sweater. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him. “I mean, you don’t owe me a damn thing, Sergeant Barnes. I don’t want...please don’t make yourself miserable for my sake.” 

_ Come on, Bucky. Stop being such a god damned sissy. All she did was touch your hand, ya idiot.  _

He straightened in his seat, flashing her the most genuine smile he could manage. “I’m sure, Darcy. I know I don’t owe you anything, but I’d like...I’d like to be your friend. And friends help each other out of jams, don’t they?” 

Darcy grinned and bit into her lower lip. “You wanna be my friend?” 

“Yeah…I hear good things about you from Thor.” 

_ Dear god did I just wink at her? Shit. I definitely winked at her.  _

Thankfully she didn’t seem to mind and blushed a rather pretty shade of pink. 

“Oh. Yeah. That guy fricken loves me. You electrocute a guy and you’d think that would put you on his shit list but apparently not with him.” 

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I heard about that. It’s pretty damn impressive for a sweet little thing like you to take down a guy three times your size.” 

Darcy grinned wickedly at him under his praise. “Why, Sergeant Barnes, I do declare,” she gasped with what was a fairly impressive southern belle drawl. “I believe you might be trying to flatter me.” Her hand fluttered and landed dramatically over her heart. 

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Yes ma’am, I am. And if I’m supposed to be your guy, you might as well start calling me Bucky.” 

She wrinkled her nose at that. “Um. I mean this with utmost respect, but I  _ cannot _ call you Bucky. I just can’t.” 

He shifted in his chair. “Why not? What’s wrong with my name?” he asked in mild consternation. 

“Look dude, I know you’re a historical icon and whatnot, and Bucky was a perfectly suitable nickname back in the day, but in the present day and age it’s um...well, it’s fine, I guess. But I just can’t imagine being able to scream it out during sex with a straight face.” She gripped her mug tightly between both hands and gave an apologetic shrug. 

Bucky stared at her, his mouth hanging open and looking ready to catch flies. He snapped it shut again. “Um,” he started roughly, then cleared his throat. “James is my given name...would that work better?” His voice absolutely  _ did not _ crack on the last word like he was some punk kid whose balls hadn’t properly dropped yet. 

“Ummm,” she seemed to seriously consider it for a minute then closed her eyes.  _ “James,” _ she moaned out softly between slightly parted lips. The mug in Bucky’s hand cracked sharply and tea began to seep out between his fingers. 

Darcy’s eyes snapped open. “Yep! That’ll work!” she chirped brightly. “Oh! Your mug’s broken, let me get you some paper towels!” 

She hopped up from her bar stool and traipsed over to grab the roll of paper towels by the fridge and then she was right there beside him, practically wedged between him and the counter. She mopped furiously at the mess threatening to spill off the edge and onto his pants. This close, he could smell her hair and skin, slightly floral but mostly just a clean, enticingly female scent. He was vaguely aware of her sputtering out apologies while she cleaned, her warm body nudging against him every once in awhile. He sat rigidly, unable to move or hardly even breathe with her this close. And then she turned her head to look up at him, those big blues eyes wide and horrified. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I forgot about the no touching thing and going slow and making eye contact. Oh geez I made like zero eye contact, didn’t I?” 

_ She’s making plenty of it now, Jesus Christ.  _

“You’re fine. It’s fine,” he mumbled as she shuffled away from him, sweeping up the dirty towels and his busted mug as she went. She deposited all of it in the sink, her back to him and head hung low as she rinsed out the rest of his tea. 

He felt like he could breathe again- think again- so he asked her a rather pressing question. “Is there a reason that you need to be able to say my name like you- like  _ that?”  _

Her head perked up and she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Oh. Yeah. We’re going to have to fake like we’re having  _ all _ the sex while we’re there. Really put that lesbian rumor to bed. So. You know. Acting. And whatnot.” She turned and leaned her rump against the sink, looking up at him from beneath her lashes and fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

“Am I going to be  _ acting, _ too?” 

“Well, yeah. But like you’re a spy so this should be right up your alley,” she answered cheerfully. 

“Honey. That’s  _ not _ what spies do.” 

Her mouth popped open in displeasure. “Yes they do! Nat told me so!”

“Do I look like Natasha to you? I’m not a Widow. I am not trained in the art of faking an  _ orgasm.”  _

_ Am I blushing? I am absolutely blushing. Damnit.  _

“Well obviously you’ve never dated any of my ex boyfriends because that is a crash course in Faking It 101,” she muttered to herself. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky had enhanced hearing and couldn’t be blamed for the laugh that burst out of him. She seemed rather delighted by the outburst so he didn’t feel too badly for it after all. She rolled her eyes good naturedly and ambled slowly back to the island, cocking her hip against the edge a couple feet from him. 

“You don’t have to do any moaning or whatever. Just help me get the mattress springs to squeak and make the occasional caveman grunt.  _ That, _ I know for a fact, you can do. I’ve been in the gym while you and Cap were lifting weights.” 

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. “Alright, I can do that.” A thought occurred to him. “Are we going to be staying in the same room?” 

“Yeah, if that’s alright with you?” 

“That might not be the best idea. I still get nightmares occasionally. They-  _ I  _ can get kind of violent in my sleep.” He pinched his lips together, not quite meeting her eyes. 

“Oh. Well. Um. I can sleep on the floor or something? We can figure it out when we get there. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll take good care of you.” 

Bucky nodded at her. “Thanks,” he mumbled. For what was probably the millionth time, he really wished he wasn’t such damaged goods.

Darcy scooched a little closer to him. “No problem, dude. You’re doing me the biggest of favors. I will do everything in my power to make it as painless as possible for you.” She took a breath, her fingers tapping against the granite countertop. She looked to be organizing her thoughts. 

“Right. Let’s get back to parameters. Obviously the physical stuff is a sensitive thing for you so let’s keep it to like basic handholding and occasional cheek kisses. By nature I’m a tactile person and I’m known for that within my family but, like, I’m sure they’d understand that you’re more reserved by nature and will just assume I’m being respectful of that. Hopefully. Anyway, you do what you’re comfortable with and I will be very deliberate in not surprising you.” 

As she had spoken, she’d inched closer still to him, eventually lifting her foot to rest against the bottom rung of his stool. He could feel the vibrations from her bouncing on the ball of her foot, but she seemed to not even notice the fidgeting. He reached out a hand to where her knee was bobbing up and down near his thigh. 

“Honey, are you  _ ever _ still?” he asked, somewhat exasperated. All the tiny movements tugged at his attention, his militant awareness unable to ignore the constant fidgeting. She jerked under his hand, freezing her expressive body,  _ thank god _ . 

“Hah, sorry buddy. No. Not really. I mean, I’m better when I haven’t had so much caffeine or when I’m not being called  _ honey  _ by a sexy master assassin, which, by the way,  _ please _ keep calling me that because it is adorable as fuck and pet names are a thing with couples, right? So it’s good practice for you to call me pet names and touch my knee, and other parts,  leading up to Christmas because we’ve got like two months to get comfortable with each other so it feels less forced or rehearsed, so it’ll just be totally normal for us by then, right? Like breathing or walking or-“

“Darcy, honey,  _ breathe,” _ he urged, squeezing her knee lightly. 

She gulped in a huge breath of air, nodding vigorously at him. “Right. Right. Breathing.” 

He chuckled and pulled his hand back to rest in his lap. “You think I’m sexy?” 

“Ah. You caught that. Well, I’ve got eyes, don’t I?” She shrugged as if his attractiveness was common knowledge. “That’s beside the point. You’re getting me off track.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Let’s get our dating history ironed out so we don’t have any discrepancies. I’m thinking we should just count today as our first date. Keep as close to the truth as we can to make remembering stuff easier. Like, you asked me out for coffee last week and today is our coffee date. We chatted. We laughed. You called me honey. I was charmed. You adorably broke your mug and made a mess. This thing practically writes itself. We sound like the beginning of a romance novel.” She grinned at him, obviously very pleased with herself. 

_ Shit, she’s too sweet.  _

“Sure, kid. Sounds good to me.” 

“Sweet. So obviously we’ll just say we met through mutual friends. You’d seen me around during team get togethers and whatnot and were super into me and decided to ask me out. I said yes because,” here she paused to gesture at his face and chest,  _ ”specimen.” _

“I take it our first date went well then?” he asked, grinning despite himself. 

“Sooo well. Obvi. You immediately asked me out for a second date, to which I wholeheartedly agreed.” She leaned in a little closer, her knee that was propped up nudged forward to press against his thigh.

“And where did I decide to take you for that second date?” 

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Ummm, definitely somewhere cute and romantic. But like old school classy because you’re old as fuck.” 

He snorted. “Gee thanks, honey. Make a guy feel real good about himself, don’t you?” 

She pouted at him, reaching her arm out to run her fingertips along his bare forearm. Gooseflesh dimpled across his skin in the wake of her fingers. “James, baby, don’t be like that. You know I prefer a man with  _ experience.”  _ She waggled her brows and licked her lips, creating a ridiculous caricature of lust. 

“Jesus,” he laughed. “For our second date I took you ice skating out on the lake.” 

Darcy's eyes lit up. “Oooh I like it! And afterwards we warmed up with hot cocoa and snuggles. Super cute. Good one, Barnes. Any idea what we did for our third date?” 

“Nothing fancy. I made you dinner. Something simple, like meatloaf. After dinner, we slow danced in my living room. And then we just sat on the couch and watched the snowfall outside the window until you fell asleep on my shoulder.” His eyes slid closed as he spoke, picturing the evening in his head. 

He was met with silence and he opened his eyes to see Darcy staring at him wide eyed, a tiny smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. He instantly flushed to his hairline and ducked his head. 

“James. Barnes. Are you a secret romantic?” 

“No,” he grumbled. “I’m a mean old man. I kill people for a living.” 

“I’m calling bullshit on that. You are a big soft romantic teddy bear, don’t deny it!” She poked at the center of his chest in emphasis. 

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe. I still kill people though,” he insisted. 

“Yeah. With your cuteness.” 

“I kill them with bullets, sweetheart.” 

“Same difference.” She made a face and waved her hand back and forth. “Your cuteness is at lethal levels.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and tried to hide his pleased smile. “Whatever you say, Darcy. We got anything else we need to straighten out at the moment? I gotta meet Steve for a sparring session in about ten minutes.” 

She patted his forearm where it rested against the counter. “No, no, you’re good. If I think of anything else I’ll let you know.” She moved away from her spot at the island and he ignored the loss of the warmth of where her knee had rested against his thigh. “See ya later, James. Make sure you practice your carnal grunting while you’re sparring with Steve. Practice makes perfect, ya know.” And with that parting shot, she breezed out of the room, her curls bouncing along behind her. 

He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, slowly shaking his head at the madness he’d brought on himself. 

“What are you smiling at?” Steve asked, stepping into the kitchen. Bucky twitched and sat up straighter in his seat, leveling a glare at his friend. 

“Nothing, punk. You ready to get your ass handed to you?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Buck.” 


	2. In for a Penny...In for a Three Piece Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fake boyfriend saga continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have read all of your lovely, lovely comments and I have been so completely blown away by your response to this bit of crack and fluff! Thank you all so much! These next two weeks are going to be ridiculously busy for me, but I promise as soon as things settle down I will respond to your comments. Chapter three will also probably not be up until the first week of December but I've already started cranking away at it, don't you worry. 
> 
> Much love and holiday greetings to everybody! To my American readers, I hope y'all have the tastiest of Thanksgivings!

He didn’t see nor hear from her for three days. But when he finally did...it was intense. 

He was in the middle of running his twenty-seventh mile around the outdoor track and training area when he heard his name being screeched out from across the field. A small, Darcy-shaped missile was barreling towards him. He slowed to a stop and fought the instinct to sink into a defensive crouch.

“Barnes! Barnes, goddammit I need you!” she caterwauled, skidding to a stop a foot in front of him and waving an envelope furiously in his face. She dropped her arm and he was able to see her clearly. She was horribly underdressed for the weather in some kinda skintight black pants and loose t-shirt. Her hair was a frizzy mess of curls piled on the top of her head and her face was bright red from a combination of cold and exertion. Darcy bent slightly at the waist, her hands propping up her top half on her knees as she attempted to suck oxygen back into her body. 

“You doing okay there, sweetheart?”

She popped back up, a manic gleam in her eyes. “Yes. I’m great,” she huffed. “Aside from the fact that I am running on about two hours of sleep, I’m freezing my ass off, and I have been trying to track your fine ass down all fricken morning. Who the hell goes outside to run in  _ this _ weather, Barnes? It is  _ snowing. _ There are fucking snowflakes melting in my cleavage right now because you have some kind of sick aversion to the nice,  _ warm,  _ indoor track.” Darcy folded her arms under the aforementioned and highly impressive cleavage. 

_ Don’t look...don’t look...don’t look. Shit. _

She cocked one eyebrow up and he’d bet dollars to donuts that the little smirk she gave him was triumphant with a predatory edge. He shrugged helplessly. There wasn’t much else he could do about it at this point. 

She rolled her eyes and gently pushed the envelope she’d been holding into his hands. He glanced down at it and pulled out its contents. It was an invitation. A very fancy, very expensive looking Christmas invitation addressed to Darcy on heavy, cream colored vellum. Along with the formal invitation there was an RSVP card which appeared to be the source of all the hooplah based on the way she ripped it out of his hand. 

“James, buddy, this is your last chance to escape from this favor unscathed. I’m about to write down a big fat ‘two’ in the ‘number attending’ space and then you will have no choice but to go.” 

Wide, panicked eyes and shaking hands were never a good combination on a dame. Bucky reached out to wrap his hands around hers where they were gripped tightly to the edge of the card, soothing his thumbs along the fine bones in the back of her hands. He gently tugged the card from between her fingers, glanced up to the mess of hair on top of her head and plucked a pen that was haphazardly shoved through the middle of all those curls. 

“Turn around,” he mumbled, using two fingers at her bare shoulder to gently encourage her to make an about face. She spun on the spot, nearly tripping over her boots in the snow. Except they were definitely  _ not _ her boots. They were about four sizes too big and obviously belonged to Clint, if the little purple arrows decorating the toes was anything to judge by. He was fairly certain he’d seen them abandoned by the training area door when he’d left that morning for his run. 

He chuckled and steadied the card against Darcy’s back near the top of her spine. She shivered under the chill of his vibranium knuckles where they pressed into her skin and he hastened to fill out the RSVP before he could cause her too much discomfort. He capped the pen and tucked it back into her hair, his metal hand extending out over her shoulder to hold the card out for her. 

“There. In for a penny…” he muttered. 

She spun under his arm, gripping his metal forearm when she nearly tripped  _ again,  _ her other hand landing lightly on one pec as she steadied herself. It was only when she looked up from her feet and into his eyes that he realized just how close she was. Hell, if he lifted his other arm he’d be fully embracing her. The thought held merit. 

_ She’s shivering. Freezing, really. If I wrapped her up in my arms it would only be because I couldn’t stand by and let a lady freeze to death.  _

_ ….Right. Sure, Barnes. Keep telling yourself that, you lech.  _

She seemed unaware of his inner turmoil, her mouth stretched in a wide smile. “You’re a good friend to have, James. A damn good friend.”

“I don’t know about that. I  _ do _ know that your lips are turning blue and you need to get back inside.” He tugged his eyes from her mouth and glanced down at the hand on his chest. He lifted it with his flesh and blood one. “Fingers too,” he added, brow arched in disapproval and splaying out the incriminating fingers before curling them into the cage of his fist. In bewilderment, he watched her eyes flutter closed and she subtly swayed closer to the warmth radiating off his body. She hummed under her breath and then her eyes snapped open again. 

“Right. You’re right. I  _ am  _ freezing,” she babbled, nerves clear in the pitched cadence of her voice. She tugged her hand from his and backed carefully away from his almost-embrace. She snatched the forgotten RSVP card from his fingers once she was out of the circle of his arms. “Well, um, I’ll see you later buddy!” She stared at him for a second. “Okay. Bye!”

And with that, she spun on her heel and scrambled back towards the facility. Bucky watched until he saw her form disappear into the building. He shook himself bodily and took off running again, focusing on the pounding of his feet against the track. 

***

“Whaaat are you doing?” Bucky asked, backing slightly away from a slowly encroaching Darcy. His back hit a solid chest and he felt Steve’s hands come down on his shoulders.  

“I’m taking your measurements.” She spun a hot pink, tailor’s tape measure around one hand. 

_ “Why?”  _ He was man enough to admit the slight note of alarm in his own voice. He glanced up over his shoulder to see Steve’s smug mug smirking down at him. 

The alarm increased in intensity.  

“For your Christmas morning pajamas. We all have to wear them. Aunt Sheryll called this morning asking for your sizes. I guess they got our RSVP,” she muttered to herself and then dropped to her knees in front of him, tape measure stretched between her hands. “Spread your legs,” she commanded. 

_ “WHAT?”  _

“Dude, I gotta take your inseam measurement,” she answered, as if it was a perfectly respectable and ordinary thing to do. She glanced back up at him, bobbing her head in impatience. “Spread ‘em.” 

He felt the low rumble of Steve’s chuckle from behind him. “Yeah,  _ dude,  _ spread ‘em,” the backstabbing traitor uttered as he wedged a foot between Bucky’s boots and kicked his legs apart. 

He was  _ this close _ to grabbing one of the knives hidden in his shorts and stabbing Rogers somewhere nonlethal but incredibly painful. Fortunately for Steve, that line of thought was completely derailed by a soft hand wrapping around his ankle to pull his leg out just a bit further. And then she was pressing the tape to his ankle, her other hand stretching up and up and  _ up  _ along the length of his thigh. He thanked every god there was that he’d chosen to wear compression shorts that day beneath his gym shorts when he felt the barest hint of her knuckles grazing against his balls. 

He might have made the tiniest of yelps and went rigid, mentally preparing himself to break Steve’s hold and hurdle over Darcy’s head. Thankfully the contact didn’t last more than a millisecond before she was jotting down his inseam into her phone. She hurriedly wrapped the tape around one of his thighs, giving a low whistle before typing that number as well. 

He could not have been more relieved when she rose to her feet and out of eye level with his groin. Of course, it wasn’t like she was finished with him. She wrapped the measure around his hips, then his waist, chest, biceps, along the length of his torso, and finally his neck. It wouldn’t have been so jarring if it weren’t for the fact that he had been mid workout with Steve and therefore  _ shirtless.  _ He thought he was going to jump out of his skin every time her hot little hands brushed against his bare skin. 

And that rat bastard dick laughing behind him knew it, too. 

“Jesus Christ, Darcy. Are you measuring me for pajamas or a three piece suit?” he blurted out as she typed out the last of his dimensions. 

She didn’t even look up from her phone. “Oh. Most of those measurements weren’t for the pajamas. They’re for your wedding tux because we’re getting married now that I know just how thick your thighs actually are.” She finally flicked her eyes up to his, full lips grinning sinfully. “Hope you like powder blue, because it’s going to be themed and I’ve always thought the 70s sounded fun.”

Behind him, Steve threw back his head, laughing riotously because it was all just  _ so damn funny.  _ Bucky grit his teeth.

_ Fucking punk. _

Darcy’s attention was drawn to Steve and she smiled in delight at his laughter. “Thanks for the assist, Steve.” She held her hand up for a high five and Steve stepped around him to give her one. 

“Anytime, Darcy. I expect pictures of our boy in his Christmas pj’s, first thing Christmas morning.”

She grinned up at him, giving him a sloppy salute. “You got it, new best friend.”

Bucky glared and pointed to each of them in turn. “So it’s  _ Steve  _ and  _ Darcy  _ now, is it? What happened to  _ Captain America  _ and  _ Miss Lewis?  _ Huh? I don’t like this,” he declared, waving at the space between the other two. “Being on first name bases and ganging up on me. I don’t like it.” 

“Come on, Buck. Darcy’s a great pal to have. You want me to make friends, doncha? ‘Specially with you guys getting married soon and all.” 

“Yeah, come on, Buck,” Darcy echoed gleefully. 

“I hate the both of you,” he muttered. He picked up his towel and water bottle off the sparring mat with a huff and stalked out of the gym. He heard Steve start to say something so he flung his arm behind him, flipping his dearest friend the bird. 

Darcy’s tinkling laughter followed him out of the gym and into the locker room. He bit down futilely on the smile creeping across his lips. 

***

A whip of red hair across his face was the only warning he had before Natasha spun and launched an elbow at his ribs. He dodged and dived just in time, rolling out and away from her before springing back up into a defensive crouch. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, little spider,” he taunted her as they began to circle each other. Her eyes narrowed in displeasure and then the expression cleared in favor of a sly smile. 

“So Yasha,” she began casually, “have you given any thought as to what you’re getting Darcy for Christmas?” 

Dawning horror jolted through his gut. “What?” he asked stupidly. Very, very stupidly. 

In the next moment, Natasha’s thighs were locked around his neck and she was using her body weight to flip him onto his back, effectively putting an end to the sparring session they’d engaged in for the last hour. He wheezed and stayed prone on the mat, working to get his lungs to fill again after the shock of hitting the ground. Natasha gracefully disentangled herself from him, patting his chest as she straightened to stand. She peered down at him and gently toed him in the ribs until she'd helped flip him to his stomach. He drew up onto all fours before dropping back to sit on his heels, his lungs finally working well enough to speak. 

“No,” he forced out, “I have  _ not _ and you damn well know it. I hadn’t even considered it.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. 

Nat clicked her tongue. “What kind of idiot are you, Yasha? I’m not even an American and I know that well thought out gifts are a Christmas tradition.” She arched her brow, the judgement clear in her steely gaze, and wholly unappreciated. “Darcy’s had your gift picked out for weeks now.” 

At that comment his head snapped up. “She has? What’d she get me?” 

“Spoilers, Yasha. Spoilers.” Her smile was as enigmatic as ever. 

_ God damned good for nothing spies and their god damned secrets.  _

Natasha flicked her towel out at him, catching him across his chest with a stinging  _ thwap!  _ He rubbed the sore spot and stuck his tongue out at her. Not that she noticed as she was already walking away from him towards the locker room. 

He sat there on the mats for a long while, brainstorming gift ideas furiously. And coming up snake eyes,  _ of fucking course.  _

He groaned and pulled at his hair in frustration. There really was only one way to go about this. 

He’d have to talk to Tony.

***

“I need your help.” He spit the words out like they were poison, shouting over the sound of Tony’s blowtorch. He flushed with the heat of shame and regret and guilt and all those other fuzzy feelings that always got aired out when he thought about the man standing before him. The man he’d turned into an orphan. 

Tony’s eyes widened comically behind his welding goggles. “Who me?” He asked, pointing a glove encased finger at his apron covered chest. 

“Yep. I need gift giving advice. For Darcy.” 

Tony turned off the welding torch he held in one hand, setting it down on his workshop table. He pushed the goggles up onto his head, making his hair stick out at odd angles. He stared at Bucky, crossing and uncrossing his arms several times before finally tugging his gloves off and tossing them on his work table next to the torch. The gloves were followed by the apron and then Tony was walking away from him and out of the lab. 

“Come on, Barnes,” he shouted over his shoulder. Bucky jerked in surprise. He had been certain that Stark was outright dismissing him. Apparently not. 

“Uh, where are we going?” He asked, hastening to catch up to the other man. 

“I need a drink. And I know for a  _ fact  _ that if you’re trying to get Lewis a Christmas gift that’s going to not only impress her but her hoity toity family as well, then  _ you’re _ gonna need a drink.” 

_ Can’t argue with that logic.  _

Bucky found himself in the Stark penthouse in short order, sipping on something exceedingly expensive and deliciously smooth. He had to admit, Stark’s kid certainly had style. And a healthy streak of generosity. Which is why he’d gone to Tony in the first place. 

For all his eccentricities and narcissistic bravado, Tony was known for being pretty damn incredible as a gift giver. And not just that he had a bunch of money to throw around to shower on people, but he actually seemed to  _ care _ when it came to picking out gifts. They were always thoughtful and always perfect for the recipient. 

This time was no exception. Bucky smiled into his glass, pleased with what was pulled up on the holoscreen in front of him. 

“That one. That’s the one. I’ll take it.” 

Tony’s eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. “I like your style, Barnes.” 

***

In the weeks leading up to the holidays, Darcy insinuated herself seamlessly into his life. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she insinuated him into hers. Sam insisted that she was a good influence on him, somehow corralling him into interacting with the other Avengers in a social capacity other than beating the crap out of one another. 

It was...unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable but even he was self aware enough to realize it was good for him. That it made him more human, softening the frozen edges of his soul. So when she knocked on his door inviting him to this or that team get together, more often than not he found himself agreeing. He wasn’t necessarily the social butterfly he’d been as a young man. No, he’d suffered too much at the hands of other men to ever fully feel that exuberant joy of social frivolity ever again. But, it was a softer kind of happiness now, gentle and reverberating and easing him to sleep after an evening of dinner and drinks and games with...well,  _ friends,  _ he supposed. 

And he couldn’t ask for a better friend than Darcy. She learned his moods fast, figuring out quickly when he needed a guide to lead him through the treacherous waters of social interaction and when he needed to be tucked into a corner by himself with a beer and a snack and just observe. Or when he needed to sit in silence with someone at his side while watching the room. 

From his isolated corner where he kept watch, he learned quite a lot about the woman. Her taste in music and beer, the different laughs she reserved for different people, the way she held herself when she wasn’t sure of her place amongst everyone in the room. The way she stood when she was.

He learned that she could read a room and a person nearly as well as Natasha, though she used her instincts to find a way to better the situation. Nat was a good woman, but she’d been trained to enter a room and keep whatever data she collected entirely to herself, to mull over later and then perhaps act on once she’d fully analyzed what she’d collected. Darcy was less cerebral in that regard. She took her data and ran with it on gut instinct, lifting spirits and patching divides with a dogged determination. Sometimes she found herself in the middle of awkward situations of her own making, but usually she just made everything  _ better.  _

He couldn’t really fathom how her family didn’t absolutely adore her. He’d even voiced this to Tony at one point. 

“Lifestyle of the upper crust, Barnes. When you have more money than God, you feel entitled to judge people on something other than their moral fiber.” Tony’s agile fingers fiddled with the plating in Bucky’s arm, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth. “So what if you rescued a baby from a burning building and spend all your free time building houses for the homeless. Did you go to the right Ivy League? Did you take over as CEO of the right company? Marry the right man? Pop out the right number of kids to carry on the family tradition of being complete and utter assholes?” 

Bucky blinked at the bitterness in the other man’s voice. “I’m guessing you married the wrong man?” 

Stark chuckled at that, snapping one of the plates back into place and straightening. “Something like that. Not all of my ilk are like that, but it’s pretty consistent in the Old Money families. And Darcy’s is some of the oldest. Old and  _ southern,  _ which comes with a whole other slew of social mores that I don’t even want to think about,” Tony shuddered. “Good luck with that,” he added, clapping a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Thanks,” Bucky grunted. The little ball of anxiety he’d been carrying in his gut for weeks now grew just a bit bigger.

He did his damndest to crush the little ball and keep his anxiousness from showing. He must not have been doing a very good job of it based on the way Darcy cornered him in the compound’s garage one afternoon, about a week before they were due to leave. 

He’d just come back from a ride on his bike through the winding roads near the compound, trying to clear his head with the frosty air and the adrenaline rush of speeding around the curves of the road at less than safe speeds. He spotted her as soon as he parked and cut the engine, She was leaning against the doors that lead to the main building. 

The little crease between her brows and the way she worried at her lips with her teeth had him feeling uncertain and off kilter again, the good of his ride completely obliterated by the worry rolling off of Darcy. 

He slid his leather riding jacket off his shoulders and folded it over his arm, buying him time to collect himself before approaching her. 

“Hey Darce,” he murmured when he was finally able to look up at her. 

She flicked her fingers in a jerky, awkward little wave before folding her arms back tight around her middle. Everything in her posture screamed discontent and it set off all sorts of alarm bells in Bucky’s head. 

“Hey James, how’s it hanging?” she asked, her forced cheeriness somewhat diminished by the nervous wobble of her voice. 

“To the left, most days,” he replied, hoping to elicit a laugh or at the very least a smile from her, but all he got was a half-assed quiver of lips and a thick swallow from the woman. His worry cracked and spilled over the tight grasp he’d had on it. 

“Darcy honey, what’s wrong?” He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch her but he didn’t. 

“I’ve been thinking...maybe you shouldn’t go. With me.” Her gaze lost its focus somewhere over his left shoulder before snapping back to meet his. “I mean, it’s really a lot to ask of you and especially with us only being brand new friends and I can tell how tense it’s been making you over the last few weeks and I feel like such an asshole and I really can’t do that to you after you’ve been such a sweetheart to me ever since the day we met.” 

“No, honey, don’t worry about me. I told you I would do it and I’m a man of my word. I know I might have seemed a little...tense, like you said, about our plans but I promise that I can do this and I’ll be just f-“

“I read your file.” The words burst out of her mouth like rapid fire, like she couldn’t hold them in anymore. She clapped a hand over her mouth after the confession, watching him with wide, wary eyes. 

Bucky felt like he’d swallowed a hunk of lead, his stomach dropping straight to his toes. 

“Oh,” he replied slowly, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Okay.” 

“Shit, James, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have done it but I was worried about how you’d been acting and I thought if I had the whole story I’d be better able to intercede and prevent anything potentially triggering while we’re on holiday but then I kept reading and reading and, I mean, I knew what you’d gone through with those shithead Nazis but I didn’t  _ know _ know, ya know? And-“ She cut off her babbling at Bucky’s raised palm.

“Darcy. Stop. Please.” His throat ached and he still couldn’t look at her. 

_ Don’t fucking cry. Please, Bucky Barnes, for once in your fucked up life don’t make things worse by fucking crying in front of her.  _

Head hung low, he murmured, “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. What you read...what you saw, I get it. I get that you don’t feel it’s... _ safe _ to bring me around your family now that you know.”

_ “What the fuck?”  _ he heard her whisper vehemently. “Dude. No. James, baby, look at me. Please?” 

He blinked harshly, trying to clear the sheen on his eyes before finally looking up at her with what was probably a pretty fucking pathetic face. She was standing closer now, her hand extended to bridge the gap between them, her fingertips a mere centimeter from his arm. This close he could see that she’d been crying recently, her eyes red rimmed and the delicate skin around her nose discolored. 

“James, I’m not afraid you’re gonna hurt my family,” she uttered softly, her fingers finally closing the gap to wrap tenderly around his forearm. “I’m afraid that they might try to hurt  _ you.”  _

_ “What?”  _ He shook his head, hoping to clear his confusion. It was not very effective. “What?” He asked again. 

Darcy rolled her eyes and made a displeased click of her tongue. “You don’t understand, my guy. Some of my family is alright but most of them basically  _ thrive _ on verbally tearing people down. Especially people they deem as outsiders. Especially if those people have...soft spots. Vulnerabilities. Weaknesses.” 

He arched a brow. “You think I’m weak. That I’ve got  _ soft spots?”  _

She niggled a finger into his abs. “Not  _ literally,  _ obviously,” she replied. “But you do have soft spots, James. You have been put through the wringer and it’s left scars inside of you. For godssake you flinch if I happen to brush too closely against you or when I forget myself and reach for you suddenly. So yeah, you’ve got some soft spots, and that’s completely understandable considering-,” here she paused, her hand fluttering near her heart as if she was trying to physically gather her words, “well, considering  _ everything,  _ and any normal, nice person would be respectful of that...but my family is  _ not _ normal and not even close to nice.” 

He felt her fingers dig tighter into his forearm, her other hand coming to settle beside the first, gently tugging him an inch closer with her urgency. Darcy’s eyes were sharp, pleading. 

“They will catalogue every single flinch, every single tender spot on you and they will dig their claws in until you feel sick inside. Until you want to run and hide and burrow into the dirt until the weight of all that earth crushes you to death.” 

She was breathing hard now, staring a wide-eyed hole into his chest. If he was being honest with himself, the sharp tang of her panic scared him a little. 

“Kinda sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” he said, as gently as he could. 

Her eyes whipped up to his and then her beautiful face crumpled, big wet tears rolling down her cheeks to drip onto her sweater. 

“Ah, honey, don’t cry,” he fretted and then broke her death grip on his arm, only to then wrap her up and tuck her into his chest. He banded an arm around her back and his other arm angled across her shoulders so he could cradle the back of her head. He sifted his fingers through her hair as she let out a hiccuping sob. 

“Baby girl, why do you even want to go see those people? They sound worse than Hydra.” 

She chuckled wetly into the hollow of his throat. “I dunno. Some sick sense of familial duty? Mom died when I was so young, it just seems like I should be at stuff. Be a good representative for her. I feel guilty whenever I miss stuff and I don’t know how to shake it.” She shrugged her shoulders and burrowed in deeper to his warmth. 

“And I legitimately have a staggering amount of student loan debt. To the tune of $178k.” 

Bucky loosed a low whistle at that and she made some kind of half choked, wheezing laugh followed by a miserable little whine. 

“Yeah. Fucking tell me about it. I can’t even tell you the interest rate on it without wanting to vomit. And you look so nice in this shirt. It would be a shame to ruin it.” 

He chuckled softly, the sound coming out as more of a rumble in his chest than an actual laugh. Darcy sighed against him and he felt her breathing even out again. He resisted the urge to nuzzle his face into the top of her head. 

Well, he tried to at least. 

_ God, she feels so soft. So good. What the fuck kind of a person would want to hurt someone so sweet?  _

“I'm definitely going with you now,” he declared to the curls under his lips. She leaned back in his embrace to stare at him. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” 

“Yeah, but that’s irrelevant,” he smirked. “There’s no way I’m letting you go off alone to be-to be... _ mauled _ by those assholes. There’s strength in numbers, honey.” Bucky slid his hands along her back to clasp her shoulders. “And you and me? Together? We’re gonna knock ‘em all on their hoity toity rich folk asses.” 

The beaming grin she gave him in reply was enough to solidify in his mind that, no matter what, it was all worth it in the end. Just so long as she kept smiling at him like that. 


	3. What Not to Wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grenade launcher. Definitely don't wear that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Hope the Americans had a nice Thanksgiving. I wrote the first chapter of a new fic and a new one shot and this chapter over the holidays so go me. Yay. It was a coping mechanism to survive my family. Yay. 
> 
> For the non-Americans: I hope you had a nice normal week of no holidays. Enjoy this bit of fluff.

_ Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t fucking panic.  _

“Darcy!” Bucky yelped into his phone the moment she said hello. “What the fuck am I supposed to pack??” he asked, definitely panicking. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable packing, I guess.” Her voice seemed distant, as if he only had a third of her attention. 

“Oh well, in that case, guess I’ll be wearing tac pants and a grenade launcher to Christmas dinner.” 

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good…” 

“Darcy.” 

Silence from the woman on the other end of the line. 

“Darcy!” 

“Yep! Hey! What? What were you asking?” 

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face and loosed a sigh. “You’re in the lab aren’t you?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, trying to get some data polished off before we leave.” She still sounded pretty spaced out. 

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. 

“....Uhhhh-“

“If you have to think that hard about it, it’s been too damn long.” Bucky glanced at his watch. “Pack your stuff up and find a stopping point. I’ll be down in about fifteen minutes to pick you up for lunch. I’m buying.”

“Oooh, big spender,” she teased, a little life coming back into her voice. 

They hung up and Bucky stared at the mess of clothes and weaponry strewn across his bed. 

_ Yeah, fuck this. I’ll sort this shit out later. _

He tossed the empty duffel bag he’d been holding to the center of the bed and snagged a pair of pants and a t-shirt he knew that she liked. He stuffed his feet into his combat boots and checked his watch again. He still had a few minutes to kill so he left his apartment to knock on the door down the hall. Steve opened it with an easy-going grin.

“Hey Buck, what can I do for you?” 

“Nothing. I’m going out to lunch with Darcy, was gonna see if you wanted me to bring you back something to eat?” 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his doorway, a smug look crossing his stupid face. Bucky instantly regretted coming over. He didn’t even need to hear what that punk was gonna say to know it was a mistake. 

“Sooo,” Steve started, all casual. “Going out to lunch with Darcy, huh?” 

Bucky controlled the urge to roll his eyeballs hard enough for them to pop out of his head. “Yes,” he said between gritted teeth. “She’s been in the lab for- Hey, Friday? How long has Darcy been in the lab?” 

“Eighteen hours, thirty-four minutes, and twenty-two seconds, Mr. Ice Pop, sir.” 

_ Fucking Stark and his A.I.  _

“I don’t think she’s eaten at all since yesterday and I’m not sure I trust her to stop and eat without me coming down and making her leave the lab. I’m just being a good friend, Steve.” 

“Right. Right. Sure, a  _ friend. _ ” A sly look passed over his face. “So I guess that means you won’t mind me tagging along then?” he asked cheerfully, turning to grab his coat from the rack by the door. 

“You’re not invited.” 

Steve paused, his hand outstretched towards the collar of his coat. “Oh? Why not?” 

“Because...” Bucky floundered. “Because you’re an asshole, that’s why not,” Bucky huffed. “And when you two get together your assholery amplifies and I am the one that suffers. So no. You are not invited.” 

Steve pursed his lips and then cocked his head in a  _ you’ve got a good point _ nod of resignation. “Alright then. I’ll see you later. No need to bring me back anything, I’ve got sandwich stuff in the fridge.”

Bucky nodded sharply with a harrumph and then stilled, his attention heightened for a moment and then released. “You’re not invited either, Clint,” he half shouted. 

A scuffle and scrape in the ventilation system was followed by a soft curse and an  _ aw, man!  _ and then the archer was dropping down into the hallway beside him. 

“How’d you know I was there?” Clint whined. 

“You are surprisingly unstealthy,” Bucky deadpanned. 

Clint planted a fist on one hip and pointed a finger in Bucky’s face. “That’s not true! I am  _ extra _ stealthy. It’s not my fault that you’ve got some kinda freaky superserumed ear holes that hear fucking  _ everything!”  _

Bucky shrugged. “You’re still not invited to lunch.” 

“Come on, man. I thought we were friends? At least bring me back something?” he pleaded. 

Bucky sighed. “Fine.” 

Clint’s face brightened. “Thanks, man. If you go to that Mongolian place, bring me back the #3 with beef.” 

“Sure thing, Clint,” Bucky grumbled and then turned to head towards the elevators. 

“So,” he heard Clint begin behind him, “did I hear something about sandwiches?” 

“Bucky’s bringing you back food already?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a snack while I wait.” 

Bucky chuckled as he heard Steve give a low groan and then told the archer to help himself. 

It was a quick trip down to the underground labs. When the elevator doors opened, he was half pleased, half worried to find that the normally sterile scent of the labs was cut through with the smell of overheated electronics and the aftermath of lit gunpowder. There wasn’t any screaming or people running around looking upset so he shook off the concern and went about his business. It didn’t take long to find her. Friday was helpful in pointing him in the right direction. 

He strolled up to her desk where she was still bent over her laptop, her eyes bouncing back and forth from the computer screen to a stack of papers on her lap. He winced at her posture and his hands twitched with the desire to work the knots that  _ had  _ to be collecting along her neck and shoulders at this point. He stuffed them into his pockets and ignored the sensation. He leaned to rest his ass against the corner of her desk, waiting for her to finish what she was doing. When she still hadn’t even acknowledged him after he’d been there nearly ten minutes, he figured it might be time to interrupt what she was doing. 

He leaned across the edge of her desk until he was in her line of sight and knocked his knuckles against her desk a couple times. Her eyes finally left the screen and took a second to focus on his face before recognition clicked. 

“Shit on a shingle, Barnes!” she cried, jumping slightly in her seat. “You scared the shit out of me! Why do you spy types always have to sneak up on a girl? Didn’t your mother ever teach you to stomp your feet when you walked or make you wear a bell or  _ something?” _ She was babbling now, which he was beginning to recognize was a tell for her if she was feeling uneasy or self conscious. As she’d been reaming him out, she’d been running her hands over her face and trying to smooth out her, admittedly, disheveled hair.

“Honey,” he said drolly, “I’ve been sitting on your damn desk for close to ten minutes, not my fault you get so wrapped up in your work you wouldn’t notice if a tornado came through.” 

She smiled at him, a wide, lovely grin that made him a little glad he was still sitting on her desk and not standing on the marshmallows that now replaced where his knees used to be. 

“Okay babe, you may have a point. Though, I gotta say, you’re much cuter than any tornado I’ve ever seen.” 

“And yet, you still didn’t notice me,” he teased. “Oh and for the record,” he said as an afterthought, “I grew up in an apartment building and my mother would have tanned my hide if she caught me stomping around and bothering the downstairs neighbors.” 

“As someone who has lived below ill-mannered stompers, I would just like to personally thank your mother for raising you right.” 

“Weren’t you just ridiculing my mother’s parenting?” 

Darcy sniffed delicately. “She still could have put a bell on you.” 

“Okay, honey, if you can find a bell for me, I’ll wear it.” 

“Famous last words, Barnes,” she smirked. “Famous last words.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Come on you, let’s get some food in ya. You’re talking nonsense now.” 

Darcy hummed and stood up from her desk, straightening and stretching her neck and back with a series of painful cracks that had Bucky wincing in sympathy. She bent over her computer one last time, pressing buttons and clicking here and there until the screen went black. She made a quick stop at the bathrooms on their way out, coming out five minutes later looking slightly more put together, her cheeks rosy beneath her glasses like she’d scrubbed her face a bit before coming out. 

He smiled at her, sticking out his elbow in invitation. Mild surprise passed over her features before melting into something more like delight as she slid her little hand into the crook of his arm. He escorted her out to the bank of elevators and then up to the ground floor and to the parking garage on the opposite side of the compound. She never let go of him once and he’d be a lying liar if he said it didn’t thrill him down to his toes. He didn’t like being touched but...well, this was kinda nice. Better than nice. Great, even. 

_ Doesn’t hurt that you can feel the softness of her pressing against you, ya dirty old man. Don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her, let alone touch her.  _

He could feel her tugging them over to where her little VW Bug was parked against one wall, but he slid his hand over hers, shaking his head and pulling them towards his bike. 

“Whoa, dude, James, my darling, I am not sure that your bike is such a good idea,” she said, eyeing his ride with suspicion. 

“I once rode in the back of a VW Bug from Bucharest to Leipzig with Sam and Steve. I vowed never to set foot in one of those tiny bastards ever again.” He shuddered with memory. “Gives me the heebie jeebies just thinking about it.”

Darcy chuckled next to him and reluctantly let him pull her to his bike. He wrapped his leather riding jacket around her and helped her don his helmet. She attempted to protest against him going without any protection but caved when he made the very valid point that his body was a lot less destructible than hers. 

Satisfied that she was as safe as he could make her, and damned adorable with his jacket hanging down to her thighs and her fingertips barely peeking out from the cuffs of his sleeves, he swung his leg over his bike and settled into the soft leather seat. His shoulders hunched and he kept his eyes glued to his speedometer, waiting for the inevitable feel of her climbing up behind him. Except the feeling never came. Eventually he turned to look over his shoulder, brows raised and questioning her absence. She was chewing at her lip, looking at the space behind him like it was gonna bite her. 

“What’s the hold up, Darce?”

“Okay, hear me out,” she began, eyes flicking between his ass and his eyes, “whaaaat if I fall off?” She pressed her palms together in front of her chest, though he couldn’t actually  _ see  _ her hands since they were buried in the depths of his jacket sleeves. 

He tipped his head back with a throaty chuckle. “You’re not gonna fall off.”

“Yes, but what if I  _ do?  _ You drive very fast. Very very fast. Bad fast. Bad, go to jail forever if there were any cops in this area, fast.” 

“Get on the bike, you sissy,” he said flatly, his eyebrow ticking up in challenge. 

She pursed her lips together, irked at the accusation, and stepped forward to grip his shoulders as she resolutely threw her leg over the bike behind him. 

“Keep your feet up here,” he tapped at his bike, ignoring the way she was wiggling behind him to get comfortable. “Otherwise you might burn off a couple inches of skin from those pretty calves.”

She nodded. “Right, right, don’t deep fry the legs.” 

He shook his head and then started up his bike, biting back on a smile when the rumble of the engine startled a yelp from behind him. He cleared his throat and shouted over the rumble of the engine. 

“Uh, hold on to me tight. I won’t go as fast as I normally do, but it’s still a good idea if you, uh, hang on.” 

_ Yeah, yeah, real convenient that she has to wrap her arms around you. Bucky Barnes you’re either an idiot or a fucking genius. Or just a goddamned pervert. Fuck, don’t think about how her thighs feel around my hips. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think. Too bad she’s not sitting in front of me, those legs wrapped around my hips, rolling against me- Goddamnit! _

He revved the engine and then took off with a screech of tires that thankfully drowned out his frustrated growl but wasn’t enough to keep him from hearing Darcy’s high pitched squeal behind him. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he called out as he sped out of the garage and onto the gravel road that would take them up to the main gate of the compound. 

Her arms, where they were wrapped around him, tightened and he could feel her nod against his shoulder. Taking that as permission, he exited through the main gate and turned his bike onto the paved road that would lead to the nearest town with any decent restaurants. If he’d been alone, the journey would’ve take twenty minutes max, but with his safety conscious passenger it would probably closer to forty-five. Oh well, he’d endured worse things than having a pretty dame cling to him for the better part of an hour. Much worse. 

At some point during the ride, Darcy’s death grip around his chest and the clinging press of her knees along the outside of his thighs finally loosened. Somewhat. Her anxious yelps and squeals at each bend in the road morphed into squeals of delight and breathless, girlish giggles that rang out in the crisp, clear December air. He was helpless but to join in on her laughter. It was utterly infectious. 

They ended up eating at a little hole in the wall diner that served a mean Reuben. Once he had gotten the half starved girl something to eat and drink, he broached the topic of what he was expected to wear for their Christmas plans. 

“Oh, that,” Darcy said around a bite of burger. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with a napkin before answering, “Um. Well, some nice dark wash jeans and a few nice sweaters. Black slacks and a button down for the fancy lunch after Christmas morning. A pair of nice dress shoes. A good watch, Grandmother hates when men don’t wear nice watches. Uh, and no beards, she hates those,” she added, eyeing the scruff on his face apologetically. 

He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I can shave, I’m not that attached to my facial hair, just lazy mostly.” He smiled sheepishly back at her. 

“I oughtta have you show up with a beard, tatted up to the gills, wearing biker clothes and that grenade launcher you mentioned. Maybe it’d be enough to finally kill the old witch.” 

“Oh so you were listening to me earlier?”

She smiled impishly at him. “You will find that I am a spectacular listener when I wish to be, Sergeant Barnes.” She batted her eyelashes at him. 

“Something gives me the impression that it’s a rare occasion that you wish to be.” 

She gave a one shouldered shrug. “Maybe,” she teased and then bit into her burger again. 

They ate quietly together until both had cleared their plates and Bucky had ordered and eaten a second Reuben. With content bellies, they began discussing some of the finer details of the quickly approaching trip to Atlanta, where Darcy’s grandmother and family were located. 

“Exactly how many people should I be expecting to show up?” he asked. “I’m going to need to run background checks on everyone, as a precautionary measure.” He winced, feeling like a complete loser that he was still such a liability that he couldn’t even go on  _ vacation  _ with a dame without having to worry about security. 

“Uh well, Grandpa died awhile back, so it’s just Grandmother and my widowed Aunt Sheryll that live up at the big house now. Which is where we’ll be staying, by the way. But between Grandmother, her two surviving kids, all the grandkids and a few great grandkids….” she trailed off, her mouth moving adorably as she silently counted off relatives to herself. “Eh, all in all, if absolutely everybody comes for Christmas, which I highly doubt, there’ll be about forty-ish people including us. But like half of those forty are minors so not exactly high on the threat scale, ya know?”

Bucky blinked and nodded stiffly at her. “Does your family procreate as a hobby or…”

Darcy threw her head back with a wicked cackle. “No, but it’s basically unspoken that we’re supposed to breed and make sure the family line survives. Part of why I’m such a pariah. I think my family would be better off if they maybe picked up a few hobbies. Maybe they wouldn’t have so much time to make babies.”

Bucky puffed his cheeks out and shook his head slowly. “Nothing wrong with practicing but  _ geez _ that’s a lotta kids.” 

“You got some experience with  _ practice _ eh, Barnes?” she asked, a twinkle in her eye. 

Bucky blushed and realized what he’d just said. He sputtered a bit before deciding on the safe answer of “no. Not that I can remember anyway.” 

He could see she was struggling not to laugh at him so he chucked a crumpled up napkin at her for her bad behavior. “Leave me alone,” he admonished. “I am sad and old and haven’t seen action since before the Cold War.” 

Now she really did laugh at him, giggles pouring out of her mouth as she slumped sideways on her side of the booth. 

“Jackass,” he mumbled, but it lacked any real heat. 

***

After their lunch and ride home, Bucky dropped Darcy off at the residential floors after she promised him that she’d be taking a much needed nap before returning to her work. He made a quick stop at Clint’s apartment, pushing inside to drop off a bag that contained three different orders of diner food and a large order of fries. Clint wasn’t there so he dropped the bag on his kitchen counter and had Friday ping the other man. 

The next stop he made was to see Miss Pepper Potts, also known as the sweetest, most capable woman to ever walk the earth. The strawberry blonde was in her elegantly appointed office, sipping delicately at something from a mug while her other hand flew back and forth over her Stark tablet. He knocked quietly against her open door and her head perked up. She flashed him a gracious smile. 

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes, what a pleasant surprise.” Her happiness was genuine and it instantly put him at ease. She was one of the few people who could do that. How Stark ended up with a dame like that, he’d never know. 

“Hey there, Miss Potts, are you busy?”

Her smiled widened. “Always,” she said brightly, then winked at him. “But for friends, I can always make time.” 

He blushed slightly at that. “Uh, I uh. I don’t suppose that Tony has told you about my Christmas plans?” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. 

“Of course he has. I’m delighted to hear that you’ll be accompanying Miss Lewis. It will do her some good to have a friend at her back. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. You see, Darcy’s family seems kinda...fancier than what I’m used to and I think that I might actually have to go shopping and find stuff to wear that won’t completely embarrass her.” He looked at Pepper hopefully, “Do ya think you could help me find the right clothes for this kind of thing?”

Pepper’s eyes crinkled at the edges with her smile. She set her tablet and mug to the side and addressed the ceiling. “Friday, would you please pull up the holoscreen.” 

“Anything for you, Miss Potts, light of Mr. Stark’s life and the single source of the flaming inferno of his-”

“Yes! Yes, thank you Friday, that’s quite enough,” Pepper spouted quickly, covering her face with one manicured hand. Bucky was decent and didn’t laugh or look at her directly for a few seconds as the holoscreen flickered to life in in the center of Pepper’s office. 

Pepper cleared her throat. “Friday, be a dear and pull up the Loro Piana website, the fall menswear catalogue.” The AI started to respond but Pepper cut her off, “Erm, and please disregard Tony’s overrides and return to referring to me as  _ just _ Miss Potts, please.”

“Yes, Miss Potts.” 

Pepper glanced over at Bucky with a resigned sigh and an apologetic wave of her hand. He chuckled and bobbed his head at her in understanding. Tony was a handful. That wasn’t news to anybody. 

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, let’s go shopping, shall we?” 

Bucky grinned at the woman. She was definitely the right person to go to. She had taste in spades and everything she showed him looked real classy. 

“Wait a minute,” he interrupted, something catching his attention. “Where are all the prices? I don’t see any listed.”

Pepper gave a little tinkling laugh. “Oh Bucky, if the prices aren’t immediately listed, it's best not to ask.” 

“Yeah but how do I stay in my budget?” 

“What budget? Consider this a Christmas gift from me to you.” 

“Miss Potts…” he hedged, the probably ungodly amount of money she seemed set on spending on him making him nervous.

She pursed her lips and stopped him in his tracks with a flick of her brow. “Trust me, Bucky, this is nothing. And besides, I’m counting it as my gift to Darcy, too.” She grinned wickedly at him. “I’m so glad she happened to share your measurements with me over coffee the other day. Now, let’s see about getting you some jeans that will...accentuate your assets.” 

Bucky turned about seven shades of red, coughed, scuffed the toe of his boot against the carpet, and then nodded meekly at her. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we will be meeting the fam. Cue the screams of terror.


	4. Always Fly Private for the Holidays: The Champagne is Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're leaving. On a jet plane. 
> 
> I don't know when they'll be back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend like it's still Christmas and this isn't four months late.

Bucky tugged restlessly at the collar of his turtleneck. It wasn’t that the cream colored sweater was uncomfortable. In fact, the damn thing looked and felt like a dream. Which it should considering the god awful amount of money it cost. No, it wasn’t the new clothes, or his freshly shaven face, or even the fact that he’d had a real haircut by an actual barber, that was making him feel so restless. Pepper had assured him that he look like he’d stepped out of a catalogue. And he wasn’t blind, so he knew he looked good when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Despite all that, he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. 

If he was honest with himself, which he really tried not to be when in potentially embarrassing situations, he knew he felt so out of sorts because he was worried about Darcy’s reaction to the new look and duds. He knew he looked handsome, but what if she didn’t like the style? What if he’d done too much? Or not enough? 

There wasn’t much he could do about it now, though, as he walked into the little waiting room of the private airport he and Darcy would be flying out of in less than an hour. He spotted her almost immediately, curled up in an armchair and working what looked like a book of crossword puzzles. He paused in a moment of near panic and then hoisted his canvas duffle bag higher on his shoulder with determination. The motion must have caught her attention because her eyes glanced up at him. Her eyes swept over him quickly and she flashed him a polite smile before returning to her crossword puzzle. She froze almost immediately after and gave him a gawking double take. 

“Oh my god,  _ James??”  _

Bucky grinned a gave a self conscious shrug. “In the flesh,” he said, holding up his left hand with an awkward little wave. He glanced at the hand with a slight frown. “Well, sort of.” 

Darcy unfolded from her chair and was bounding towards him in the next instant, pure delight written all over her face. She stopped just in front of him to reach out and finger the edge of the camel coat he wore. “Hot damn, Barnes. Where have you been keeping these threads?” She traced along the collar of the coat until she got to his neck and then she released it in favor of grasping his chin to turn his head from one side to the other. She let out an appreciative sound in the back of her throat. “And this face. You’ve got to stop hiding the goods, my man.” 

Bucky tugged his chin from her hand with a roll of his eyes, fighting the urge to grin like a fool. “Alright, alright, you can stop making fun of me. I know I look like a dandy.” 

“If that’s old timey talk for hot as hell, then yes you most definitely do look like a dandy. Cripes.” 

“Pepper picked it all out for me,” he confessed. He looked up at her shyly. “You really like it?”

Darcy grinned and nodded, crinkling her nose in a way that made him want to kiss it. She glanced up at his hairline and her grin widened. “I like the hair too,” she said, then planted one hand on his shoulder and popped up on her tiptoes so she could ruffle his hair with her free hand. 

Bucky ducked out of her grasp. “Hey! Stop that, woman. I just spent ten minutes trying to comb it perfectly.”

“Yeah and it is unfair for anyone to look that perfect. I’m just leveling the playing field a little,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. She cocked her head to the side as another thought occurred to her. “Besides, now it looks like you’ve been mauled recently in a steamy makeout session.” 

“And that’s a good thing?”

“It is if people are assuming I’m the one that did the mauling,” she replied, wagging one eyebrow at him. 

“...Right.”

She rolled her eyes at him and clicked her tongue. “Spoilsport.” Changing tack, she gestured for him to come sit with her and help her with her puzzles. He wasn’t all that helpful, he didn’t think, but she had a distracting habit of tracing the ridges of his knuckles with the fingertips of her left hand while she was deep in thought. It was a habit he could get used to. 

Being so wrapped up in the hypnotic feel of her fingers against his skin, he startled slightly when the pilot joined them in the waiting area. The middle aged man greeted them pleasantly and then ushered them out to the private jet that was now waiting for them on the runway. The interior of the jet was lush and state of the art, as only a Stark commodity could be. An attractive blonde flight attendant welcomed them aboard with a polite and brief introduction, before leaving them to their own devices. 

“Holy Jeebus, this thing is awesome,” Darcy said, her voice hushed with awe. “Shit, is that champagne??” One moment she was by his side, and the next she was settling herself into one of the comfortable seats and making herself at home with a bottle of Armand de Brignac. Her first sip had her humming with pleasure and beckoning him over for his own glass. “This is so much better than flying commercial, especially during the holidays,” she said, handing him his glass as he sank into his seat. 

A blush rose on up the back of his neck. He knew the only reason that they were flying private was because Stark and the team didn’t think he could be trusted around that many civilians. He was still a liability, and he doubted they would ever see him as anything else.  

“Dude, what’s with the stank face? Did the champagne insult your mother or something?”

Bucky chewed at his lip, looking out the window to avoid meeting her eyes. “I know that we’re taking the jet because everyone’s afraid I’d snap and kill someone at a public airport. You don’t have to pretend, sweetheart.” 

“Um, well, that’s dumb. And patently untrue. I  _ asked  _ Tony if I could borrow one of his jets so I could show off to my family and not look like a complete shitshow when I finally got there. I have  _ no  _ desire to fly commercial for the holidays ever again if I can help it. That only leads to the flu and a loss of faith in humanity.” 

Bucky was finally able to drag his gaze back to hers. “Really?”

Irritation flitted across her features for the barest moment only to be replaced by a solemnity that he was unaware that she even possessed. She reached across the little table that separated their seats and plucked his untouched champagne flute from him, setting it aside so that she could take both his hands in hers. “I will never lie to you, James. Never. Do you understand me?”

He could only swallow harshly and nod at her. As soon as she had his acknowledgment, she brightened and graced him with one of her joyful smiles. “Good,” she replied and then tugged his flesh hand forward to place a kiss at the inside of his wrist. His pulse leapt at the contact but he had the presence of mind not to completely lose his damned mind and show her how much he’d liked it. 

_ Dirty old man, it meant nothing. Stop looking for something that isn’t there, ya idiot.  _

“So, I think now would be a good time to go over who all will be there and how we’re all related.” 

“Huh?” he replied, like the buffoon he truly was. He blinked a few times, trying to come back down from whatever high her kiss had sent him on. 

Darcy looked at him expectantly and then jabbed her finger at a piece of computer paper that now lay between them. He had no idea how long that had been there or even when she’d pulled it out, but apparently it was long enough ago that she was giving him funny looks. At some point, they’d also taken off and were cruising quietly through the clouds. 

_ Jesus.  _

“Haven’t you ever seen a family tree before, Barnes?” 

_ Oh, right. That’s what we’re supposed to be going over.  _

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, doll. Just been awhile since I’ve seen one, I guess.” Which was true but not even close to the reason why he’d been staring blankly at her for god knows how long. 

She quirked her brow at him but didn’t comment on the matter further,  _ thank god,  _ instead diving full steam ahead into her family history. 

“Okay, so this is Grandpa Lenny Covington, short for Leonard,” she began, poking her finger at the name that was written near the top of the page. “He’s dead now, so you don’t have to worry about meeting him, even though you probably would have liked him because he was actually a pretty cool guy. He was funny and sweet and a little bit nutty, but that’s probably because he was originally from Texas.” She dragged her finger across the line that connected the first name to a second. “Now,  _ this _ is Grandma Genevieve.”

“The racist grandma?”

“Yep, that’s the one. Oh, and just so you know, she absolutely hates being called Grandma. She’s got English royal ancestry that she likes to flaunt around, so she is adamant that everything be way more dignified than is entirely necessary. We are all basically required to call her Grandmother or she gives us the stink eye.” 

“Really?”

Darcy’s left eye twitched faintly. “That’s just the beginning, my guy. We’re not allowed to use paper napkins at her house. It’s cloth or bust. There are literally no paper napkins. Anywhere. It’s freaking bizarre. Also, slouching is verboten along with laughing too loudly or being happy in general. At least, that’s what it feels like.” 

“Why the hell did your grandpa even marry that woman?” Bucky asked incredulously. 

“Well you know how Grandpa was from Texas? Okay so he was actually dirt poor growing up but when he was in his twenties he scraped up enough money to buy a piece of land so he could be a farmer, right? Well, turns out the land he owned is damn near bursting with oil so Grandpa got real rich  _ real  _ fast. Anyway, fast forward a couple years and he’s started investing in land and takes a trip to Atlanta because the prices were ridic low at the time or something. He ends up meeting my grandma at some society function and she came from a society family with hella connections but they’d recently gone broke so Grandma was looking to marry rich. Also, Grandma was a total looker back in the day, even if she was a bitch. SO, long story short, Grandpa visited Atlanta and came back with half of Georgia and a brand new wife. They lived in Texas for about five minutes before Grandma threw a fit and made them move back to Atlanta.” Darcy drew a deep breath and gave him a smile edged with sarcasm. “A real fairy tale, amiright?”

Bucky nodded, wide-eyed. “Yup. Like Cinderella or something.” 

“Or something,” Darcy muttered, then launched into the next generation of her family tree. “So, these three here are my Aunt Sheryll, Uncle Richard, and my mom, who was the baby and about fifteen years younger than Uncle Richard. I get the feeling that she was not an intended pregnancy and that’s probably just one more tally in the box of reasons why Grandma hates me.” Darcy pursed her lips in a way that bothered Bucky. No one should ever make such a sweet girl feel the way those dreadful people did. 

“I don’t know how anyone could hate you, honey.” He resisted the urge to cup her face in his hands, but just barely, keeping them safely clasped in his lap. 

Darcy beamed at him. “Barnes, it should be illegal how sweet you are.”

“Honestly, of the illegal things I have done, that would be the least of my worries.”

“Yeah I know. I’ve seen how fast you drive,” she teased, biting into her lip. “Okay,” she began, returning their attention to her chart. “So Sheryll is actually alright. She’s a little stiff and a stickler for the rules and can’t really say no to Grandma, but she used to sneak me treats when the cousins wouldn’t play with me, which is alright in my book. Her husband died a couple years ago so she lives with Grandma now, but she has three grown children, and a slew of grandchildren and maybe even a couple great-grandchildren? I’m not sure. They all breed so quickly.” Darcy gave a shudder and Bucky had to stifle a grin. “Now, as for Uncle Richard...he’s a dick. Just...I mean, a complete asshole. Entitled, mild alcoholic, womanizer, has eight kids between three marriages,  _ super _ racist, and basically has to share his opinion on  _ everything.”  _ A strange look passed over Darcy’s face as shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “He uh, he also tends to get a little.... _ handsy _ when he’s been drinking.” 

It took Bucky a couple of seconds before he realized the foreign emotion on her face was shame. The pieces fell into place with a visceral clunk inside his head and he was very acutely aware of a murderous rage welling up inside of him. His arm whirred loud enough to draw Darcy’s attention. She stared at it with alarm, jumping slightly when the wooden table gave an ominous crack beneath his hand. Instinctively, she reached out to lay her hand across his metal forearm. 

“James?”

Bucky drew in a steadying breath, consciously releasing his grip on the table and forcing the gears in his arm to slow. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Did he...did he hurt you?”

Darcy’s mouth popped open with shock. “Oh. Oh god  _ no.  _ He just...was kind of gropey. Especially once I turned fifteen and the girls really blossomed,” she assured him, gesturing vaguely at her chest. 

Bucky closed his eyes, anger still simmering close to the surface. When he opened them, he pinned her down with the intensity of his gaze. “Do you want me to make him disappear?”

Darcy snorted and gave a lopsided grin that faded to disbelief. “Wait, are you serious?”

Bucky jerked his head in a sharp nod. Darcy blinked rapidly and then seemed to contemplate his offer. Eventually, she gave a slow shake of her head. “No, better not.”

“You sure? Because I’d be fucking happy to do it.”

“I don’t doubt that. How bout I promise to let you break his hand if he gets grabby?”

“Deal.” 

_ Murdering that sick sonovabitch would be much more satisfying though. What kind of prick preys on their teenage niece, jesus.  _

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, James,” Darcy replied softly, running her hands soothingly over his forearms. “I’m okay. Especially since I’ll have you this year,” she said, beaming up at him. She looked so sweet, such a tender thing. All heart, and big blue eyes, and teasing lips, and smartass wit. 

She was going to be his undoing,  _ dammit. _

“Why don’t you have some champagne while I go through the rest of the family, yeah? You look like you could use a drink or seven to relax.” 

Bucky snorted and let a corner of his mouth turn up before graciously taking the glass she handed him. He downed the whole thing in one swallow. “Shit,” he declared, looking at his now empty glass. “That stuff  _ is  _ good.”

“You ain’t lying,” Darcy mumbled, before downing her own glass and pouring them both another. “Alright, back to business. I mentioned that Uncle Richard has eight kids, so most of them are married with kids and so on. Nancy is the youngest of his kids by quite a bit, married but no children, thank god, because I shudder to think of what demons she would spawn. Oh, and she is my arch nemesis.”

“Because she’s trying to cut you out of the will with lesbian rumors?”

“Yep and she snuck in my room and cut all my hair off while I was sleeping when I was eight.”

“That bitch.”

“I KNOW.” 

Bucky reached across to twirl one of her loose curls around his fingers. “Looks like it grew back just fine, though.”

Darcy humphed. “Yes because I have superior hair genetics.” She gave her curls a haughty little shake that had Bucky fighting the desire to bury both hands into them. Instead, he satisfied himself with a quick tug of the curl around his finger and then released it before he could do something stupid like tangle his hand deeper and pull her in close and kiss her senseless. 

“Can’t say I disagree.”

“You really shouldn’t wink at me. It’s not fair. Especially without the hobo beard to hide how handsome you actually are,” she admitted, an obvious blush climbing the column of her throat. She shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, and then polished off her glass. She immediately poured another for herself. 

A warm, exceedingly pleased, feeling burned in Bucky’s gut and a small part of the man he used to be flared to life. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table between them and clasping his hands together. “My face gonna be a problem for you, doll?’ he purred, looking up at her from under his lashes and suddenly remembering the devastating effect they’d had on women in the past. 

He watched Darcy swallow hard and lick a trace of champagne from her lips.  _ “Everything  _ about you is a problem for me,” she replied hoarsely and then immediately emptied her glass. “You know,” she said as she rose suddenly from her chair, “I think, um, I think that’s about all you need to know about my family at the moment and uh, I’m feeling a little loopy from the altitude and the booze and I’m pretty sure Stark has like a sleeping cabin in the back with a bunk that I should definitely go lie down in and sleep off some of this bubbly before I make a fool of myself and uh...yeah. So. Laters!” She spun on her heel and practically fled from him to duck behind a door positioned at the opposite end of the plane.  

_ Fantastic, absolutely fucking fantastic. Barnes, you goddamn prick, you’ve scared the shit out of her with that bullshit flirting you were trying to do. How could you be so fucking stupid! Of course everything about you is a problem. Your whole goddamn life is just one long clusterfuck of misery, why would she even consider getting tangled up in that? Idiot, idiot, idiot.  _

Bucky glared at his own reflection in the plane window and counted the agonizingly slow minutes until they touched down. 

***

Near the end of their flight, the attendant made an appearance to check on him and announce that they would be landing within the next few minutes. Bucky thanked her and returned his attention back to staring sullenly out of the window until movement from the corner of his eye had him glancing to the back of the plane. Darcy was walking through the doorway, looking adorably rumpled. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, allowing Bucky a glimpse of the soft, pale skin just below her bellybutton. She approached him slowly, with a shuttered look and took her seat across from him once more. They stared at one another for a moment and then both proceeded to talk over each other. 

“Dude, I’m so sorry-”

“Darcy, if I made you uncomfortable I apologize-” he stopped when she held a hand up.

“Wait what? Why are you apologizing?” she asked. “I’m the one that was tipsy and awkward and whatever,” she continued, flapping her hand a bit helplessly and letting her gaze drop to the table between them. A thin line appeared between her brows. 

“No, no, sweetheart you shouldn’t be sorry for anything. I was the one that made you uncomfortable in the first place.” He shrugged and felt a little desperate to explain himself without incriminating himself as the dirty old man that he was. “I just- I just, I was only teasing, sweetheart. Didn’t mean anything by it,” he swore. He  _ lied.  _ “I didn’t mean to take it so far. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Her eyes jerked back up to meet his. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. You should definitely do it again, just not when I’ve had champagne and could say something stupid.” 

Something clicked in Bucky’s head. “Oohh, you mean I should flirt with you like that in front of your family. Make us look...authentic.”

Darcy froze. “Uh...yes. That. That’s exactly what I mean,” she said with an overly cheerful smile. Probably trying to not make him feel like such a sap about himself. She was way too kind hearted for someone like him. 

“I can-” he cleared his throat, “I can do that.” 

“Great,” Darcy replied. An awkward silence fell between them that was, thankfully, broken by the plane finally landing and the bustle of getting their bags and heading to the waiting area where they were to be picked up by private car. 

As soon as they arrived at the waiting area, they spotted a wiry looking older man with salt and pepper hair. He was dressed in a traditional black suit with his hands folded behind his back in a way that gave Bucky the impression that the man had been in the military at some point in his life. Darcy let out a delighted squeal beside him and dropped her bags to go sprinting towards the older man. 

_ “Charlie,”  _ she shouted before launching herself into the man’s arms. He caught her with ease, despite his thin frame.

“Hey darlin’,” he said in warm, twangy accent, while a smile cracked his craggy face. “It’s good to see you again.” He thumped her a few times on the back before glancing up and taking note of Bucky. “And who’s this young man?” Bucky didn’t miss the hint of challenge in the other man’s eyes. 

Darcy turned and gave a nervous titter. “Uh, this is, this is James,” she answered, sweeping her hand out to indicate Bucky. “He’s my...boyfriend. James, this is Charlie. He’s technically Grandmother’s driver but I’ve known him my whole life so he’s more like family. To me, anyway.”

Bucky stepped forward to shake the other man’s hand. Charlie eyed him carefully and then said, “Didn’t know your plus one would be the Winter Soldier, Darce.” 

Darcy’s eyes went wide and Bucky stepped back a pace, as shame licked up his spine. “He’s not that man anymore, Charlie,” she hissed. 

Charlie looked him over stone-faced and silent for another moment before nodding his head. “Alright, I suppose he’s not. Can I help you with your luggage, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky dumbly shook his head. “No thank you, I can handle it.” He felt shaken, and his voice came out a helluva lot meeker than he intended. The other man probably thought he was both a coward  _ and  _ a murderer now. 

Charlie grabbed Darcy’s bags without asking and stuck out his elbow for her to take. He led them out to where a black Bentley Mulsanne was parked and waiting for them. The drive from the airport passed in a bit of a blur for Bucky, but he was content to sit in the back seat watching Atlanta fly by while Darcy and Charlie chatted happily in the front. Before long, the city scenery began to shift to a distinctly more suburban feel with nice sized homes with well-groomed yards. The further they went, the larger the houses got and the bigger and more elaborate the plots of land got until they were pulling up to an iron gate in front of what had to be a property containing several acres. 

A guard seated in a little brick and mortar booth waved them through as the gates swung open. Charlie gave a little salute of thanks and pulled the car through. Once past the gate, Bucky was able to get a better look at the grounds. The rolling lawn sprawled out for what seemed like a mile on either side of the winding gravel drive. The drive itself was lined with huge, bare-limbed trees that arched over the road and gave it a tunnel like effect. The car rounded a final bend and the trees opened up to reveal the Covington family home. Except it looked more like a palace than a home to someone who had grown up in a shoebox apartment in Brooklyn. 

“Geeze Louise,” Bucky mumbled. “I feel like I’m visiting royalty.”

Charlie snorted and pulled the car into park. “I get the feeling that that’s exactly what they want you to feel like,” he said with obvious disdain. 

Darcy gave a somber sigh. “Don’t I know it. Well, shall we?” she asked, glancing behind her at Bucky who was still staring dumbfounded in the backseat. 

He nodded slowly and gave her a nervous, lopsided smile. 

“Now or never, sweetheart.” 


	5. Practice Doesn't Always Make Perfect, Sometimes it Just Makes Things Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shades of blue....and red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Children! Another chapter? Yes. Another chapter. Did it take me over a month to write it? Yes. Yes it did. I am a failure at holiday fics being published on the ACTUAL holiday. *shrug emoji*

Sheryll was the one that ended up greeting them at the door. Charlie whisked their luggage away with the car and Bucky assumed their things would be returned to them at some point. Sheryll was taller than average for a woman, with a thin, willowy frame that made her look a little severe. The sharpness of her appearance was not helped by her thin lips and and the board straight hair that fell across her shoulders. Like Darcy, she was a brunette, though her hair was darker and closer to black, with streaks of silver throughout. As foreboding as she looked, the moment her hazel eyes landed on Darcy, a warmth exuded from them and softened the rest of her face. 

“Darcy,” she drawled, her southern accent softening the ‘r’ almost to an ‘h.’ Darcy returned the smile and stepped into the other woman’s arms. “How was your flight? You didn’t sit next to another one of those people with the flu, did you?”

With her head tucked beneath her aunt’s chin, Darcy met Bucky’s gaze, crossing her eyes and rolling them slightly. “Nope, not this time Aunt Sheryll. We flew private this time.”

“Thank the heavens,” Sheryll stepped back, keeping a light grip on Darcy’s elbows as she gave her a good once over. “You look healthy. And happy. Any chance that might be because of the handsome young man you’ve yet to introduce me to?” Sheryll arched a perfectly shaped brow, her tone mostly teasing with the tiniest grain of disapproval at Darcy’s apparent lack of manners. 

Darcy instantly flushed and cleared her throat, gesturing to Bucky. “Aunt Sheryll, this is Sergeant James Barnes. James, this is my Aunt Sheryll.” 

Bucky stepped up beside Darcy to extend his hand to Sheryll. “Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Well,” she replied, extending her own hand and giving a smirk that made an unexpected dimple pop in her left cheek. “Finally, someone with manners. Though, I do suppose you picked up your manners in a time gone by. I think you might be older than even Mother.” 

Bucky cringed. “Everyone in this house know who I am?” 

“Honey, everyone in the whole  _ country _ knows who you are,” Sheryll replied. “Never mind that, now. Let’s get y’all to your room so you can freshen up before dinner. You’ll have to excuse Mother. She’s having a rest right now, otherwise she would come greet you, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky waved his hand, unconcerned about any perceived slight. He was just fine not meeting the old bat just yet. Sheryll stepped back into the elegant foyer so Bucky and Darcy could pass her. She shut the ornate door and ushered them further into the house. Bucky did his absolute best not to look like some slack jawed idiot as Sheryll led them through what was a bona fide mansion. Marble floors and arched ceilings and gilded woodwork all screamed “luxury” at him in a way that not even Tony’s extravagance could match. At least at Stark’s tower the high end nature of everything was useful and had a purpose. The Covington home...that was just...excess to a frivolous degree. There was no practicality to it whatsoever, no matter how beautiful. 

At last, Sheryll led them to a wide hall that was punctuated by a marble staircase. “Darcy, you and Sergeant Barnes will be staying in the Blue Room for the duration of your stay. I believe Charlie already had someone deliver your bags to your room.” 

“The Blue Room?” Darcy asked, eyes wide. 

Sheryll gave her a soft, knowing smile. “Yes dear. As you have a beau this time, I thought you might like something a little more spacious and private this Christmas...It wouldn’t really do to put you in with the children again.” 

“It’s a Christmas miracle! No more bunk beds and sticky little kids!” she crowed, giving a little skip-jump and fist pump motion.

“Act like an adult and you get treated like an adult, dear,” she replied pointedly. Sheryll turned her attention to Bucky with an incline of her head. “If you have need of anything, you just let me know, Sergeant Barnes.” 

“Please, call me James.” 

Sheryll smiled in acknowledgment and then left to glide gracefully back down the hall. Darcy was suddenly in his space, clutching at his hand and hauling him up the stairs after her. 

“Uh, Darce, what’s the rush?”

“Shhh, James, just trust me. We got the best room in the whole house! I wanna show you something.” She grinned back over her shoulder at him, sparking warmth in his belly. 

The top of the stairs opened up to another long hallway, this one marked by doors running along each side. Darcy came to a halt in front of a pair of doors that she opened inward with a twist of the scrollwork handles. She skipped inside the room, spinning a bit with her arms thrown wide. 

“Ta-da!” 

Bucky peered around at the interior of the sprawling bedroom. “Is there something in particular I’m supposed to be looking at?”

Darcy’s hands dropped to her hips, her grin falling to a perturbed twist of her lips. “This is the best room in this whole damn house. Look how pretty it is!” 

Bucky did his due diligence and looked around again. It was obvious where the room got its name. It was decorated with furniture and bedding and walls that were all varying shades of blue. The walls were  a light, French blue, while a set of upholstered chairs in sapphire were tucked into a reading nook beneath a huge window. Heavy velvet drapes--navy, with gold accents--hung open on either side of the window. The bedding on the king sized was all in a paler blue, with a slight gray cast to them, that made Bucky swallow hard, though that was more to do with the fact that he might be sharing that bed with Darcy in a few short hours than it did with the color of the comforter. 

“It’s uh...it’s really blue?”

“Blues are my favorite,” she said pouting slightly before turning and launching herself onto the bed with a delighted grin. “I love this color in particular,” she said, tugging at one corner of the comforter. “Ever since I was little, I’ve always loved this color, and this room. Reminds me of being underwater or something. Like I’m a mermaid princess.” She patted the bed, scooting over so Bucky could lay down beside her. 

He obliged, though stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping at least a foot between them. “I can see that,” he conceded. “It’s a nice room. Bed is pretty damn comfortable, too.”

Darcy turned and rolled on her side, propping her head up on her hand to gaze down at him. She opened her mouth to stay something but then stopped, blinking twice, a curious look in her eyes. “Your eyes match the bedding. Like, the color is damn near identical.” 

His gut clenched and a shot of warmth spread across his chest. “You saying my eyes are your favorite color, doll?” Was that  _ his  _ voice coming out all whisper soft and husky? 

Darcy cleared her throat and her free hand twisted at a patch of comforter between their bodies. “Well, I’m not  _ not  _ saying that. Transitive Law and all that,” she muttered, not quite meeting his gaze. 

“Yeah, yeah. Transitive Law,” he teased, rolling onto his side to mirror her. 

There was a thread of tension, something raw and quiet, that settled into the space between them. Bucky watched as her tongue peeked out to glide over her upper lip, a nervous tick he’d begun to notice in her. 

“I think…” she began softly, seeming to lose track of her thought. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Yeah. Shower. Rinse off the recycled air and whatnot.” She pushed up to a seated position and wiggled her way off the bed. His eyes glazed over a little at the shimmy of her backside. 

“Alright,” he coughed. “I’ll uh, I’ll just wait out here?”

Darcy, who was now bent over her luggage, peered pertly back over her shoulder at him. “Were you expecting an invitation to join me?”

_ Nope, but I wouldn’t exactly turn one down.  _

Bucky choked and sputtered, sitting up on the bed. “No, no. No. Not...I just meant, shit-- I don’t know what I meant.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, willing away the heat around his ears and neck. 

“Relax, James. I’m just teasing,” she said, tucking a bundle of clothes under her arm. “You’re awful high strung for someone your age.”

“Brainwashing and torture will do that to a man,” he deadpanned. 

Darcy clicked the tip of her tongue, glancing thoughtfully at the ceiling. “You know, you might be onto something.” She reached over to tug playfully at his turtleneck and then wandered off to a door on the opposite side of the room that he assumed led to the bathroom. Before closing the door, she called over her shoulder, “I won’t take too long so you can go after me and then you can take a nap or something, if you want? Might help with the stress…”

Bucky nodded and shooed her off to the bathroom, thankful for a moment to himself. Bucky leaned back on the bed, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the recessed ceiling. He must have been more worn out that he thought because one moment he was following the textured swirls of the ceiling (and desperately trying  _ not  _ to think of Darcy’s sweet, curvy body covered in soap suds like his own personal pinup…. _ goddammit)  _ and the next he was jerking awake and kicking out at the hand that was gripping and shaking his ankle. 

His foot made contact with the soft middle of his attacker and was followed by the person releasing a pained  _ “motherfucker!” _

Recognition swept over Bucky. He bounded off the bed in an instant, scooping Darcy up off the floor to deposit her gently on the bed. “Shit. Shit. I’m so sorry, honey. Are you alright?” His hands flitted around, not sure where to land, eventually settling to pat awkwardly at her hair. 

Darcy released a soft groan as she stretched out from the tight ball she’d curled herself into, rubbing tenderly at her stomach. Bucky watched her, feeling ill and worthless as all hell. 

“‘S alright, James. My mistake, sneaking up on a sleeping bear.” She rolled on her back and pulled a long, shuddering breath into her lungs, keeping her eyes closed. When they finally opened, he felt his stomach drop at the little bit of moisture that collected at the corners. 

_ “Darcy,”  _ he lamented, reaching out to brush away the tears, his stomach twisting uncomfortable. 

“Oh hush, Barnes. I told you I’m fine,” she said matter of factly, brushing away his concern as if he hadn’t just injured her. She moved to sit up but his hand went to her shoulder, holding her down. She cocked an eyebrow up him. “You gonna let me up or….”

“Kid, I kicked you pretty hard. I wanna make sure you’re alright before I let you run off.”

Darcy gave a disbelieving laugh. “What, you want me to lift up my shirt so you can inspect me for internal bleeding and organ damage or something?” He just stared at her. Her smile faltered when he didn’t contest her projections. “Dude.  _ No.  _ You do  _ not  _ get to see my flabby excuse for a stomach, okay? People with abs like yours don’t get to see non-abs like mine. Them’s the rules, James.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side, mouth pinched in irritation. “Darcy, I don’t give a shit what you look like under that shirt--”  _ liar, liar, pants on fucking fire,  _ “I just want to make sure I didn’t damage anything.” 

She eyed him warily, rubbing absently at her stomach which only made him more anxious to see how badly he’d hurt her and if he needed to get her to a hospital. And himself to a damn jail cell. 

_ Jesus, Barnes. Beating up women? What the fuck is wrong with you? _

“I guess…” she finally conceded, though obviously still reluctant. “You promise me you won’t laugh?”

Bucky’s eyes met hers sharply. “Laugh?” He was hurt that she would even suggest it. He had a pretty good idea what Darcy looked like under all those cozy sweaters and there was no way in hell he’d be laughing. Struggling to breathe and harder than a diamond in an ice storm? Maybe. But laughing? Absolutely not. 

She rolled her shoulder under his hand in a half shrug. “It’s happened before,” she muttered. Her tone was uncaring but her eyes held a world of hurt. Which made Bucky ache for her. And want to punch whoever had put that pain in her eyes. 

He leaned closer to her, his hand on her shoulder shifting up to cup her neck. He stroked his thumb over her cheek to draw her attention. He wanted her to listen and listen well. “Not me. Not from me. I like every damn thing about you, honey. No way am I gonna laugh at you. Got that?”

Darcy’s eyes went wide and she nodded woodenly at him. It came to his attention that he might be using his Winter Soldier face in his effort to impress upon her the seriousness of his statement. While useful in interrogating terrorists, it wasn’t exactly the best expression to wear when leaning over a pretty woman lying prone on his bed. A bed. Their bed? 

He leaned back slightly and he noticed the audible gulp of air she took once he’d finally moved out of her space. He gave her an apologetic glance and gathered himself, trying to calm his mind into something resembling clinical proficiency. He dropped his hand from her neck to pluck at the bottom hem of her t-shirt, glancing hesitantly at her once more before rolling it up to rest along her ribcage. He sucked in a breath at the angry red spot just above her belly button, too pissed at himself to even appreciate how lovely and soft her skin was. His face screwed up in a scowl and he bit down on the corner of his bottom lip before gently beginning to palpate her belly with his fingertips. Darcy gasped and he immediately drew his hands away. 

“That hurt?” he asked, alarmed. 

She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Nope. Just uh...just tickled. I’m ticklish. Very ticklish.” 

He eyed her suspiciously for a beat but she gave him a wide grin and thumbs up to continue. He rolled his eyes and then placed his metal palm flat against her belly, pressing firmly so that the more sensitive receptors in the prosthetic could pick up any warning sign that he might have missed. Finding none, he pulled his hands away with a relieved sigh. 

“What’s the prognosis, doc?”

“You’ll be fine. Gonna have quite the bruise unfortunately,” he cringed. “But no internal damage.” 

“See? Told you I was fine,” she said smugly, crossing her arms under her chest. 

“Yep. You’re so smart,” he deadpanned and began rolling her shirt back down over her abdomen. 

“Hey, wait a minute,” Darcy cried, stilling him with a hand on his wrist. “Don’t I get a lollipop for being such a good patient?”

“Doll, do I look like I carry around candy?”

“No, but honestly you should. What the hell else are you gonna use all those pockets on those tactical pants for?” 

“Weaponry,” he replied dryly. 

“Lame,” she muttered, sitting up on her elbows. “Well if you’re not gonna give me candy I should at least get a kiss to make it better.”

Bucky just blinked at her for a hot second. “Did I kick you in the head, too?”

“Har har, butthole,” she snarked at him and then flopped back on the mattress. She pointed imperiously at her midsection. “I’m gonna bruise. You don’t have any candy for me. I deserve a damn kiss.” 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose as she continued to whine about her lack of ‘booboo kisses’ until finally he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Fine,” he snapped. His hands fell back to her waist as he pushed her shirt up again and bent low to brush his lips over her tender skin. He wasn’t really paying attention to where he was aiming so he missed the red mark by a couple inches. Which didn’t seem like a large margin of error but, considering how short she was, a couple inches too low sent him south of her belly button in a hurry. He didn’t even realize his mistake until he felt the elastic waistband of her shorts brush against his bottom lip. And then there was the  _ sound _ she made. Something between a yelp and a whimper and--  _ oh shit _ what had he done?

He jerked upright, pulling his hands off her and shoving them behind his back. Embarrassment bled into irritation as he backed away from her like she might slap him at any second. “Happy now? Got your kiss. I’m just gonna go...shower...now.” Bright red and feeling like an idiot, he ducked down to grab his suitcase from the end of the bed and practically ran to the bathroom while Darcy stared after him, wide eyed and speechless for once. 

_ Goddammit.  _

He wanted to throttle something. Someone. Himself. Though he couldn’t decide which head he wanted to choke out the most. He settled on hopping in the shower and letting the water get scalding hot as he mentally berated himself for being the absolute  _ worst.  _

When he finally worked up the courage to exit the bathroom, fresh as a daisy and ready to apologize for being an asshole, he found Darcy curled up in one of the arm chairs by the window, staring out at the beautifully landscaped lawn. Her legs were folded up to her chest, her arms folded over her knees, and her chin resting on top. She looked peaceful, her eyes distant, and her damp hair was pulled back into a knot at the top of her head. Backlit as she was, he could really appreciate the graceful arch of her neck and the soft sweep of her shoulders that fit perfectly into the palm of his hands. He dropped his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat, drawing her attention. 

“Hey Darce--” he stumbled, trying to get the words out before he could chicken out. “I just wanna apologize for...whatever that was that happened. I wasn’t trying to get fresh with you or anything, honest.” He approached her slowly, trying to gauge her receptiveness to his apology. 

He watched pink rise up her cheeks. “It’s fine,” she said with a shake of her head. She stretched her legs out, letting them swing beneath her chair and tucking her fingertips under her thighs. “Actually,” she said, clearing her throat. “I was thinking you should do it again.” 

Bucky felt like he’d been socked in the jaw and his brows shot up on his forehead. Catching the look on his face, Darcy darted up from her chair waving her hands in front of her. “Nononono, not like  _ that,”  _ she clarified. “Like. Just kisses. Kissing. On my face.” She shook her head and dropped her face into her palms with a groan. Bucky stared at her in shocked silence until she lifted her head again, her face flushed even darker than a moment prior. She drew a slow breath, licking her lips and folding her hands in front of her. 

“Obviously when we first made this arrangement, PDA was pretty much off the table. But as evidenced by--” here she cut off, gesturing at the rumpled spot on the bed where he’d damn near violated her. “By...that. I think it’s safe to say that our friendship has progressed to a place where you are a lot more comfortable with pushing….physical boundaries. Yes?” She looked at him expectantly and he was helpless but to nod in agreement. 

“Right. So. I think that means we should put, uh, more stock in being physically affectionate in front of my family.”

“So...kissing?”

“Yeah.”

“On the cheek?”

“Cheek, nose, forehead…. _ lipsneckwherever,” _ she rushed. “Unless that is too much for you and then I totally understand because I mean, shit, you’ve had so much bad crap handed to you over the years the last thing you need is some hopped up wannabe heiress trying to shove her tongue down your--”

_ “Darcy,”  _ he gritted out and her rambling thankfully ceased. “I...I can do it.” He swallowed the tightness in his throat, trying to get his voice back down to an acceptable octave for a grown man whose balls dropped eighty years ago not eight minutes ago. “If you think that’ll sell it better, I’m okay with kissing you as much as you want.” 

_ However you want.  _ Wherever  _ you want. For as long as you want. Dear god. _

She flashed him a smile. “Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool.” She bobbed her head, looking slightly unhinged before launching into her next question. “So...you wanna start now? We should start now, don’t you think? Otherwise the first time we do it in front of other people is going to look hella stupid and awkward so if we get that part over with  _ now  _ it’ll look nice and genuine and natural when we do it right in front stupid Nancy’s face.” 

“Kissing?”

Darcy snapped her fingers at him. “Yes,  _ James,  _ kissing. Keep up old man. Gonna have to put you on some of that ginkgo biloba.” That last bit she muttered mostly to herself. 

Bucky’s teeth clicked together in irritation, his hands planting on his hips. “Don’t you start in on me about that shit too. It’s bad enough that Sam keeps trying to grind that shit up in my protein shakes.” 

“Maybe he’s being a good friend?” she suggested, trying (and failing) to keep a grin off her face. 

“He’s a terrible friend.  _ I’m  _ a good friend. I’m the one that is putting aside personal discomfort in order to kiss my friend senseless  _ in front of their damn relatives  _ for chrissake.”

Her face blanked into an innocent mask. “Oh, I didn’t know you and Sam had that kind of relationship. Is he a good kisser?”

Bucky’s nostrils flared as he stared her down. “You’re a little shit.”

“Yeah,” she said around a shameless smile. 

Bucky had a competitive streak in him, always had. And something about the way she was teasing him...he really wanted to wipe that grin off her face. He lowered his chin and took four long strides until he was damn near chest to chest with her. Or, chest to chin. She was astoundingly short for someone with so much sass, but he shouldn’t be all that surprised. He  _ had  _ grown up with pre-serum Steve Rogers, after all. 

Her smile had dropped in the time it took him to reach her and something about her expression made it a very sweet victory. He slid his hands up along her arms to curl them over her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against her collarbones. He tilted his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow and hoping to mask his nervousness. “You wanna practice, or what?” he asked, anxiously flicking his tongue out over his lips. 

Her eyes caught the movement before gazing back up to his. She nodded slowly, letting her eyes fall closed. “Okay,” she whispered. 

Bucky just watched her a moment, appreciating that she was letting him take the lead on this. Competitive streak or no, it had been a very long time since he’d kissed a girl. Or even stood this close to another human being. He kept waiting for the prickle of discomfort, the paranoia, to raise its ugly head but it never did. He supposed even his battered brain was able to see how much of a non threat Darcy was. At least, non threatening in the traditional sense. She was pretty goddamn threatening to his heart health based on the way the muscle was thundering in his chest. 

He let a shuddering breath out, sliding his hands from her shoulders up her neck to cradle her face. Afraid she would open her eyes and pin him with that incredibly blue gaze and make him completely lose his nerve, he dropped his head until he was brushing the tip of her nose with his own. Gaining his bearings, he let his eyes slide shut and tipped his mouth to meet hers. Her lips were soft,  _ so  _ soft, and pliant against his. 

It was all very chaste and wholesome and comforting in an odd way, right up until her hands lifted from her sides to slide up his chest and into his hair. It took her making one slight tug with her right hand for him to remember that  _ oh fuck _ a much younger Bucky Barnes had once been  _ very  _ into having his hair pulled and dammit, wouldn’t you know it,  _ this  _ Bucky Barnes fucking loved it too. With that one little tug, a groan slipped from his lips and his hips stuttered forward and he promptly lost his fucking mind. 

In response, Darcy gave a surprised bleat that had her lips parting just right against his mouth so he could suck at that exquisite bottom lip. His hands dropped from where they’d previously been cradling her face, only to land at her hips. God, she was a perfect handful, fitting between his palms like she was designed for it. 

_ Perfect, perfect, perfect. God, she’s so fucking perfect. Wanna taste and touch every damn inch of her.  _

His fingers pressed into her, kneading tenderly into the muscles of her low back. His touch caused her to give a pleased hum that reverberated dizzyingly in his head and across his lips. She surprised him by tentatively running the tip of her tongue along his top lip, sending a shiver down his spine. Her hands slipped from his hair and he thought maybe she was going to pull away from him. The thought cooled his ardor somewhat and he tried to draw back from her. 

Tried. Failed miserably. In his defense, that was partially Darcy’s fault. 

She chose that moment to fist her hands in his shirt collar and pull him closer. She was a little rougher than he was expecting and so he knocked his teeth awkwardly against her lips. She muttered an apology against his mouth, breathing out sharply through her nose and loosened her hold on him. She dropped down from where she had been standing on her tiptoes and shuffled back a half step, swaying slightly and catching herself on his chest. There was an awkward shuffle of limbs and some throat clearing while neither one could quite look at the other. Of course, Darcy was the first one to speak up. 

“I think that went well, don’t you? I mean, aside from me nearly busting my lip on your face. That was less than smooth. But overall a success, right?” She smiled tightly at him but Bucky was still too dazed to respond. She dropped her gaze and rubbed her hand over her elbow before plowing on. “Well, at least some part of you agrees,” she spouted and then grimaced. 

“What?” he asked, sounding hoarse and lost. 

She glanced back up at him and then wiggled her fingers in the direction of his pants. He dropped his gaze to where she’d indicated. 

“Oh fuck! I’m--I’m sorry--” he stuttered, hands jolting to cover his crotch and turning half away from her. “I’m not-- this is just…” 

_ Stupid tight rich people pants that show fucking everything. Shit! _

Darcy gave a nervous titter. “Hey, it’s....fine. It’s fine!” she babbled, her voice higher pitched than usual. “Don’t worry about...I know that you don’t...These things are completely  _ normal,  _ James. Any kind of--stimulation is undoubtedly, understandably, going to cause a reaction in your, uh-”

“Please, for the love of god, Darcy.  _ Stop. Talking,”  _ he begged, eyes squeezed tight against his mounting embarrassment. On the brightside, all the embarrassment was proving to be a very effective boner killer. He might even be able to turn around and face her again sometime before his bicentennial. Looking her in the eye was, unfortunately, permanently off the table. And they were such lovely eyes, too. 

Maybe he  _ had  _ died when he fell off that train and now he was in hell. 

The room was blessedly silent for a whole two minutes before it was broken by the sound of someone knocking on the door. 

“Darcy, can I come in?” Sheryll called through the door. 

He expected her to say no, but of course she invited her aunt in, with him still at half mast, too. Because he was in hell. The deepest darkest pits of hell. 

He shot her an alarmed look and, granted, the sheepish look she gave him seemed to be evidence of her realizing her mistake, but as the door was beginning to creak open there was only one thing he could think to do to save his dignity. He whipped his hand out lightening fast, catching her by the upper arm and pulling her to stand in front of him before her aunt came around the door and could get an eyeful. Darcy stumbled a bit, off balance after his abrupt maneuver, and kept on her feet by swaying back into him so that she was pressed to his front from the back of her skull where it thunked to the center of his chest all the way down to her rear where it settled against his...well. 

Hell. Deep, dark hell. 

He swallowed harshly and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying his utmost to look completely natural holding the woman he was supposedly dating. 

Sheryll gave a warm smile when her eyes landed on them, so it seemed they were doing at least a halfway convincing job. 

“It seems as if you two have settled in nicely and gotten a chance to clean up.”

Darcy’s head jerked down in a nod, her chin brushing his forearm. “Yep. Squeaky clean and no longer smelling like airplane.”

“Excellent. Mother wanted me to let you know that she expects you down in the parlor for drinks and conversation within the next hour, followed by dinner.” Sheryll’s already thin lips drew thinner still in a pinched smile. “She also said that she expects you both to be dressed  _ appropriately  _ for the occasion as is fitting of a Covington family dinner.”

“So no jeans and a tank top?” 

“No dear, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Come on, Aunt Sheryll,” Darcy whined. “Let me see the scandalized look on that old bat’s face at least once more before she dies.”

Sheryll raised an unamused brow. “Darcy, she may not be perfect, but she is your elder and you need to be respectful.” She paused, a tender look in her eyes. “She is unlikely to be with us very much longer, Darcy, and despite her flaws, she is still my mother.” 

Darcy went rigid in his arms. “Aw, Sheryll, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that,” she said fervently, extending a hand towards her aunt. The other woman stepped forward to take Darcy’s hand in both of hers.

“No, you shouldn’t have. But I know why you said it and I understand.” She patted the back of Darcy’s hand gently before dropping it and turning to go. “I’ll see you both shortly,” she said over her shoulder and then closed the door behind her. 

Darcy rocked back on her heels with a sigh. She made a soft collision with his front again and she tilted her head back on his chest so she could meet his eyes. “You gonna let me go or are you gonna keep poking me the rest of the night?” 

Bucky dropped his arms from around her and stepped back as if she’d branded him. “You’re the one that told her to come in,” he accused, turning away from her again. 

She grimaced. “Yeah...my bad. Did not put that decision through a brain filter.” She propped her hands on her hips, keeping her eyes leveled at her feet. “So, I’m gonna change into my fancy clothes for the evening while you….calm down?” 

He pinched at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and counting backwards from ten. “Yeah. Okay. What should I wear tonight?”

Darcy had made her way back to the bathroom. “The shirt you’re wearing is fine, though you might want to put a sports coat over it. The pants are good too. Unless...uh, you have anything with thicker or looser material to hide, uh, stuff if we have to kiss...and stuff?”

With his back still to her, Bucky planted his hands on his hips and tilted his head back to shoot God a disapproving glare. 

_ Lord, why me? _


	6. DEAR ABBY: My Girlfriend's Grandmother is a Monster, Can I Shoot Her? --AGGRAVATED ASSASSIN IN ATLANTA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets his first impression of Genevieve. It's as tense as you might expect. Good thing Bucky is more than happy to comfort Darcy afterwards. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever to write and thank you to the the recent comments I've gotten on it that helped finally stir the muse to action. I love all y'all.

Bucky knew of approximately thirty-six ways to torture a man to the point where death became the overwhelming preference. Stepping into the main parlor of Covington manor with Darcy Lewis on his arm while at least a dozen members of her family watched them closely now pushed that number to thirty-seven. Doubly so when he factored in the way his blood was still singing with traces of his arousal from the kisses Darcy had planted on him. 

It was a large room, stately even, but filled with enough ornate antique Victorian furniture and rich, stuffy white people to make the space seem crowded. The constant sensation of eyes on him was, for once, not a symptom of his paranoia. He noticed that Darcy bore the weight of their gazes as much as he did, but she did it with considerably more grace. He hated it, but he thought she must be used to being silently judged. 

“Ah, Darcy. Last to arrive, as usual.” Perhaps the judgement wasn’t so silent after all, and it came with a strong southern drawl. An elegant woman with iron gray hair pinned into a loose bun at the base of her neck sat stoically in the center of a velvet loveseat. Her knobby hands were folded over the handle of an ebony cane that rested against her knee and her ankles were crossed primly. Bucky could see the remnants of the beauty Darcy spoke of in her bone structure--the long, graceful limbs, the high brow and cheekbones. She looked a helluva lot like Sheryll...if Sheryll was about thirty years older and had spent those years sucking on a lemon. Yes, Genevieve Covington could have been a true beauty, even as an older woman, but the hateful tilt of her mouth and the cruel gleam of her pale blue eyes as they landed on Darcy ruined the effect. 

Darcy swallowed, smiling tightly and stepped forward to address her grandmother. The death grip she kept on Bucky’s flesh hand was enough to break a lesser man. “Hi, Grandmother, didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” she demurred. Genevieve turned her cheek to Darcy expectantly and Darcy bent at the waist to peck at the air just above first one cheek and then the other. It reminded him of how Dernier greeted people back during the war, except this interaction lacked any of the geniality that marked all of Dernier’s greetings. As soon as the stiff greeting was complete, Darcy tucked back into his side, folding her hand into the crook of his elbow and semi dragging him a half step forward. 

“Um, Grandmother, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, James Barnes,” she said, her voice brittle and breathy in a way that Bucky had yet to hear. 

Genevieve’s thin lips pinched, emphasizing the wrinkles above her upper lip, and her eyes sharpened as they met Bucky’s. “Mr. Barnes,” she drawled, giving a slight tilt of her head. “I was quite certain that Darcy was having a little jest with us when Sheryll told me you would be her plus one. I can’t say that your...relationship makes very much sense to me, what with you being a rather renowned character and Darcy being, well, she doesn’t make much of an impression among society, now does she?” 

Anger dropped like a hot rock into Bucky’s gut. “I’m afraid I have to disagree, ma’am,” he grit out, just barely keeping a civil tongue in his head. Who the fuck did this woman think she was talking about Darcy like that? And right in front of her face? Bucky tugged his arm from Darcy’s death grip, only to rearrange it around her waist, pulling her even closer into him. “Everybody I know adores her and I know for a fact that her work with Dr. Foster has gotten her name passed around in several high profile astrophysics circles.” 

Genevieve smiled coldly, her delicate brows rising slightly. “Oh? I was under the impression that she was little more than a lackey for that Foster woman.” She said Jane’s name like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “In any case, I’m glad to see that you aren’t a figment of her imagination after all. It’s about time she started focusing on finding a suitable husband.” 

Darcy hissed in a breath and let her head fall into her hand. “Grandmother,” she bit out, looking back up. “We’re just dating. I’m not out husband hunting.” Darcy’s eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed with combination of anger and mortification. 

It was then that Sheryll appeared, looking apprehensively at Darcy before turning to Genevieve. “Mother, dinner is all ready. Shall we make our way to the dining room?” she asked, gently placing a hand beneath her mother’s elbow. Genevieve gave an imperious nod and allowed herself to be led from the room as the rest of the family followed suit. Over her mother’s head, Sheryll shot Darcy a concerned look. Darcy returned with a strained smile and tight nod. 

Following Darcy’s cue, Bucky remained with her in the parlor, waiting for most of the family to exit the room before she turned into his chest, letting her forehead thunk against his collar bone. He took the hint, wrapping his arms around her and sliding his palms soothingly over her back. 

“Alright, Lewis?” he murmured into the top of her head. 

She shook her head against him and then took a shuddering breath. He squeezed her tighter. 

Her little hands wrapped into the fabric of his shirt at his waist, tugging him closer for a moment. When she released him, he stepped back, ducking his head to meet her eyes. She smiled weakly at him then slid one of her hands into his. “Come on, Barnes. We’re gonna be the last ones in and I already get enough crap for being late to stuff.” 

After the initial meeting with Genevieve, dinner was fairly uneventful,  _ thank god. _ According to Darcy’s soft murmuring in his ear, most of her family wouldn’t be arriving until later in the week, mainly her Uncle Richard and his extensive family. The family members that were present at the time happened to be Sheryll’s children and grandchildren and at least one great-grandchild. Sheryll’s ilk, from what Bucky could tell, seemed to be polite, if somewhat distant, engaging in small talk and avoiding sticky subjects in between bites of their honest-to-god French chef prepared meal. Darcy sat to his right, conspicuously quiet, her shoulders hunched and her curls curtaining her face. It wasn’t right, seeing her cowed like that because of the old witch holding court at the head of the table like she was the goddamn Queen of Sheba. Just the thought of how condescending she had been to Darcy turned his meal to ash in his mouth. He was glad when Genevieve announced that she would be “retiring” for the evening--Bucky fought the urge to roll his eyes at that--and even more relieved when the rest of the family took that as their cue to wander off to put small children to bed or have a nightcap in the parlor. 

“Alright, James,” Darcy said on a sigh as they rose from the table. “Take me to bed, handsome.” She said it softly enough that it couldn’t be read as lascivious, her tone more exhausted than flirtatious. However, that didn’t stop Bucky’s throat from closing up for a hot minute. 

He slid his hand into hers, entwining their fingers and bringing her hand up to brush a kiss across the silky skin on the back of her hand. He told himself it was to keep up the act, but even he knew it was a damn lie. He did it because he wanted to. He wanted to do a whole lot more than just kissing her hand, but he tried to shove that thought into a deep dark corner of his mind as they made their way upstairs to the bedroom--and  _ bed-- _ they were supposed to be sharing. 

As soon as Bucky closed the bedroom doors behind them, he could see the tension instantly drain from Darcy’s body, though the exhaustion lingered on her expressive face. Without thinking, he fit his palm against her cheek, stroking his thumb across the corner of her mouth where it was drawn up into a soft, relieved smile. At the touch, she blinked in surprise at him, her smile growing a bit bewildered. He jerked, pulling his hand away as if he’d burned himself on her skin. 

“Sorry,” he blurted. “Got used to putting on a show.” He cringed and cursed at himself for being such a sap over Darcy and not having the self control to keep it under wraps.  _ Idiot.  _ He shoved his hands in his pockets, like hiding them could erase his impulsive stupidity. 

Darcy’s full lips widened into the first genuine smile he’d seen from her in hours. “I don’t mind,” she said, laughter tinging the words with repressed delight. “You have nice hands.” 

His brows rose high on his forehead and he pulled his mismatched hands from his pockets, splaying them out between them for inspection. “Seriously? Both of them?” he asked skeptically. 

Darcy laid her palms over top of his, turning his hands this way and that, peering at them closely. “Yup,” she confirmed, popping the last letter. “Very nice. Both of them.” She smiled up into his eyes. She held his gaze long enough for the air to charge between them and for him to be acutely aware of her hands still in his. He could feel her pulse fluttering beneath the tips of his middle and index fingers. His eyes dipped to her plush lips, drawn there without his permission. 

“You wanna practice making out again?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped back up to hers, catching an impish glint in her blue eyes. “What?” he asked like the goddamn genius that he was. 

“You wanna practice making out again?” she repeated, this time slower, as if he was a child. “Ya know, because we ended on such an awkward note the last time, so obviously we need to work out the kinks so we can make out like a well-oiled machine, yeah?” she babbled. 

He blinked at her. “Honey, I don’t think more kissing is gonna....create a different outcome than last time,” he choked out, heat bursting across the back of his neck and over his ears. 

Her brow furrowed and then cleared. “Oh! No. I wasn’t talking about...that,” she said, helpfully gesturing at his crotch because this was his life now and these were the things that he had to endure because the universe was making him pay penance for all his sins in the most  _ bizarre _ way these days. “I was talking about me trying to bust my lip on your face.” 

She was smiling sweetly up at him, still holding his hands. He didn’t even try to argue with her. In all honesty, he was tired of fighting it. He  _ wanted _ to kiss her and here she was asking him nicely to do so. Who was he to say no? He’d already established that he was a worthless piece of shit who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Darcy, why not add lecherous old man to his sin bin? 

With a resigned sigh, he slid his palms out from underneath hers, sliding one hand up into her hair and wrapping the other arm around her waist, pulling her up nose to nose with him. She wasted no time in encircling his shoulders with her arms and tilting her mouth to press into his with her own gentle sigh. 

He was somewhat more prepared for kissing her this time. At least, he wasn’t such an astringent mix of terrified and elated, and thus better able to control himself. This kiss was gentler than the last, smoother and more coordinated, which, he supposed, was the point of the whole exercise. But it didn’t feel like an exercise, not to him. It felt like coming home. Like sinking his aching body into a hot bath after a day of hard labor. Like finding a soft place to land. 

It was bliss. 

It was agony.  

It was making his pants way too fucking tight again. 

He gave a few slow strokes of his tongue over hers, letting himself selfishly linger on the sensation before retreating from her mouth, trailing close mouthed kisses over her cheek and jaw. She tucked her face against the side of his neck, her breath coming in delicate pants that made his toes curl in his Italian leather shoes. 

“Better?” he breathed out.

He heard her swallow and then felt her nod against him, but neither of them moved to end their embrace. If anything she clung tighter to him. He couldn’t blame her for it. After the emotionally exhausting day she’d had, she was probably craving comfort, even if it had to come from him. 

He cradled her against him, swaying slightly, and smoothed his hands over her back for a few moments until he heard and felt a jaw cracking yawn go through her. 

“Alright, doll. It’s been a long day and tomorrow will probably be even longer. Let’s get you to bed.”

She pulled away from him with a shaky exhale, meeting his eyes with a sheepish smile. She ran her hands through her mussed curls. “You’re probably right. But I’ve got some ideas to get us out of the house for a couple hours tomorrow. Hopefully it’ll help.”

She turned away from him and padded over to her suitcase, grabbing whatever her nighttime regimen required and wandering off to the bathroom with a awkward wave of her fingers. Bucky took that time to calm himself down and strip down to his underwear. That was what he generally wore to bed but the idea of getting into bed with  _ Darcy _ in just that made him feel oddly exposed. Which was fucking crazy because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about anyone seeing him naked. Hydra and the U.S. Army had done a damn fine job of killing any sense of modesty he’d once possessed. 

But apparently just being in proximity with Darcy Lewis was bringing it barreling back to life. He chewed on his lip a moment and then grabbed a plain white t-shirt to wear with his navy boxer briefs, feeling more settled already just by having his chest and torso covered. 

The settled feeling vanished when his eyes landed on the bed and a whole other quandary presented itself. It was a big bed…but what if…?

He was still staring at the bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot when Darcy exited the bathroom, clean-faced and wearing sleep shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair was piled haphazardly above her head, a thick teal fabric headband holding the curls back from her face. She looked about ten years younger and if he’d felt like a dirty old man before, it was nothing to how he felt now. 

“Alright, James, have at it,” she said, gesturing behind her to the open doorway. 

Bucky shut his mouth with an audible click, because  _ of course  _ he’d been standing there looking at her like a slack jawed buffoon, and ducked into the bathroom. When he exited a few minutes later, teeth clean and bladder empty, the room was dark save for the ornate lamps on the two bedside tables. Darcy was cuddled up on the far side of the bed, glasses perched on her nose, knees curled up with a book resting atop them. She glanced up at him when she heard him, flashing him a smile and setting her book on her bedside table. 

“So,” she began cheerily, “while you were in the bathroom I was thinking about the sleeping arrangements.” 

“Oh?” he asked, intrigued by the ever entertaining workings of her mind. He climbed up onto the bed, sitting cross legged and facing her. He gestured at her to elaborate. 

“This is a big ass bed so it seems really pointless for one of us to try to sleep on the floor or whatever, right?” 

Bucky nodded slowly. “Right,” he drew the word out thoughtfully. “But what if I…” he trailed off, dropping his gaze to his hands where they twisted restlessly in his lap. 

“Have a nightmare?” she prompted gently. He jerked his head sharply in the affirmative. “Well I was thinking we could make a pillow barrier down the middle of the bed.” 

He looked up at her, one brow quirked high. “Doll, you think a bunch of pillows is gonna protect you from me? Did you forget about the wallop I gave you earlier today?” 

She frowned slightly, rubbing her stomach absently. “No I remember.” 

Bucky clucked his tongue in dismay, rolling up onto his knees to capture her hand. “Can I see?” he asked. 

Darcy’s face went blank. “Uhh,” she blinked at him before gathering her lips thoughtfully to one side. “I’m fine. It’d only make you needlessly upset with yourself.” 

Bucky’s fingers twitched on her wrist and his resolve hardened. She must have seen it in his eyes because she huffed out a breath and leaned back against the pillows, jerking her shirt up to her ribs. 

She was right, he was indeed upset with himself, but he deserved the self loathing. Her stomach was mottled with a deep purple and black bruise that spread out across her pretty pale skin. It made him sick inside to see it. 

He reached forward tentatively to stroke penitent fingers across the abused flesh. Goosebumps rose across her belly and then Darcy was whipping her shirt back down and swatting his hand away. 

He rocked back onto his heels sharply, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

“No, enough with the apologizing and the puppy dog eyes, Barnes. You’re killing me with the self hatred bit.” He was startled to see her cheeks flushed, her brows drawn down in anger. She rolled up onto her knees, suddenly in his space and gripping his face tightly between her hands. “No. More. Being. Mean. To. Yourself,” she said firmly, smushing his cheeks together with each word and making his lips pucker like a fish. “You got that, James Barnes? You are  _ amazing _ and you gotta start remembering that or I’m gonna—I’m gonna…” she trailed off, thinking hard. 

“You’re gonna do what?” he asked, the sentence garbled from her grip on his face and the smile creeping across his puckered lips. 

She raised a brow. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something,” she said adamantly, releasing his face only to poke him in the chest. “And you’ll regret it. Mark my words, pretty boy. You don’t wanna cross me.” 

He was smiling like a loon and he couldn’t stop, she was so damned  _ cute.  _ “Oh I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“I’ll give you something to dream about,” she growled and then shook her head when she saw his smirk. “No, that’s not what I meant. I was going for something more threatening.” 

“I’m feeling very threatened right now, sweetheart. Scouts honor.” He gave the three fingered salute and she returned it with a salute of her own, though hers only involved  _ one  _ finger, which only served to make him laugh. She harrumphed and pushed at his chest, moving him to the other side of the bed, and began lining up the excess pillows in between them. He watched her work, his skepticism clear on his face, but she paid no mind to him. 

“There,” she said with a flourish. “We’ll be safe as houses now.” 

“Doll, I don’t see how—“

“Bup, bup, bup,” she cut him off, a finger hovering near his nose. “It’ll work. Trust me. It’ll keep us on opposite sides and if you go into nightmare mode, I’ll be able to sneak off without having to disentangle myself from you first.”

That caught his attention. “Were you planning on getting tangled up with me if the barrier  _ wasn’t  _ there?” 

Darcy’s mouth popped open with a soft click and she seemed to be searching for words. She raised a finger in the air. “I am…what  _ some _ people might call a ‘sleep slut.’” At his widened eyes, she hastened to add, “What I mean is that I tend to get snuggly in my sleep. Unconscious Darcy has no respect for personal space. I never do anything untoward. Well, usually.” 

“Ah. I see,” was all he said, because  _ what else _ could he say? 

“Yep,” she replied absently. “This is gonna work. So. Um. I’m just gonna go to sleep now?” She rolled over, stretching out across her side of the bed to turn her light off. He was suddenly glad she was facing away from him because he’d caught a glimpse of her backside peeking out from the bottom of her shorts when she’d turned over and he was trying to very quietly choke to death, so as not to arouse her attention. 

He rolled away from her to turn off his own lamp, plunging the room into merciful darkness and hiding what he was sure was a furious blush on his cheeks. With the lack of light, the rest of his senses heightened and he was very aware of every sound she made as she nestled down into her pillows, pulling the covers up with a soft noise of contentment. It was cute and it made him smile up at the ceiling. 

“Goodnight, James,” she called softly. 

“Night, sweetheart.” She made the happy little sound again and his smile grew wider. 


	7. Keeping Your Hands to Yourself is a Terribly Overrated Rule and Should Be Ignored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All my love to my beta, ladyaudiophile

Bucky slept like the dead. Which absolutely  _ never _ happened and he could only chalk it up to luck or possibly exhaustion. A stupid little corner of his brain kept whispering nonsense about it having something to do with Darcy. 

_ Sap.  _

Whatever the cause, one moment he was listening to the steady breathing of his bedmate and the next he was blinking his eyes open to see the early morning sunlight slanting through the window. He could still hear Darcy’s breathing, so he concluded that her barrier had worked as she was still very much alive. Upon further consideration, however, Bucky discovered that the barrier was only partially effective in keeping Darcy’s “sleep slut” tendencies at bay. 

He was laying flat on his back, his flesh hand resting against his abdomen and his metal arm curled around his head on the pillow. Wrapped loosely around the underside of his metal bicep was Darcy’s small hand. The hand was attached to a disembodied arm that jutted out from beneath the pillow barrier. Bucky grinned, his eyes tracing the purple-blue of the delicate veins lacing the back of her hand. Without much thought, and emboldened by the fact that Darcy was obviously still asleep, he traced his forefinger over the back of her hand and along the hills and valleys of her knuckles. 

From the other side of the barrier, he heard Darcy’s breathing change pace, alerting him to the fact that she would likely soon wake. He pulled his hand away, settling it against his belly and feigning sleep. His eyes snapped open when he felt Darcy’s hand slide down from his bicep, following the line of his chest down to his stomach where his t-shirt had ridden up slightly. The muscles in his stomach twitched when she slid her hand under his shirt, her fingers drawing idle patterns on his skin. His blood was instantly buzzing in his veins, his heart thundering in his ears at her touch. 

He could tell the exact moment when Darcy went from that sleepy in between space to being fully awake. Her fingers stilled against his skin and her breathing hitched from the other side of the pillows, then her entire arm stiffened, fingers jerking against him. 

_ “Shit,”  _ he heard her hiss, followed by a tentative, “James?”

“Yeah, doll?” He was impressed at how steady he’d been able to say it with his heart pounding as hard as it was. 

There was a soft groan and then, “You awake?”

“Yep.”

“My hand up your shirt?”

“Yep,” he confirmed, suddenly unable to keep from grinning. 

Darcy loosed another groan. “Well, better up your shirt than down your pants, amiright?”

Bucky didn’t bother answering as he was too busy choking on a mix of laughter and shock.

“Sorry,” she muttered and then her arm began to retreat.

“Don’t be,” he replied, rolling onto his side and quickly capturing her wrist in his flesh hand, cradling it to his chest. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh. Um, I thought you didn’t like being caught unaware with, um, physical contact and whatnot?”

“Not when it’s you,” he murmured. “I like when you touch me. Feels nice.” The confession was made easier when he couldn’t see her face. Almost like he was just speaking it aloud to himself and not to the gorgeous woman on the other side of the bed that he was already half gone for. 

Darcy made a funny little sound in the back of her throat and then her hand twisted in his grip, fingers patting at his pec in a searching manner. He released his hold on her and the hand felt its way up until it reached his shoulder and then swept up his neck to his hair. She began to run her fingers through the strands, her nails running along his scalp and sending a cascade of pleasant tingles down his spine. 

He thought he may have started purring a little bit when her ministrations were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. He bit back the grumpy curse at the tip of his tongue, his narrowed eyes flicking to the door. 

On the other side of the pillows, Darcy abruptly sat up, something frantic slipping over her features. “Uh, just a minute!” she called, and then turned to him with wide, panicked eyes. 

“Sit up!” she hissed, and when he complied she began dissembling the barrier, tossing the pillows against the headboard behind them. She eyed him speculatively. “We need to make it look like we’ve been messing around. Can you take your shirt off?” she asked in a rushed whisper. He froze, eyes going round, suddenly mute. “Nevermind,” she said, recognizing his panic. “I’ll take care of it.” And then she whipped her shirt up and over her head, tossing it haphazardly across the footboard. 

Luckily  _ (unluckily?)  _ she was wearing a shapeless, cotton bra beneath the shirt so she wasn’t completely bare, but Bucky suddenly had a stunning view of the deep flush that ran down her throat, over her chest and across the tops of her breasts before they disappeared beneath white cotton. He gaped at her like a fish while she ripped her hair out of its bun and headband, shaking her curls vigorously to give them an untamed look. 

Bucky had never seen anything so goddamn pretty in his entire life and all he could do was sit there staring at her, mouth open and hands resting uselessly in his lap. 

She suddenly twisted, turning to face him, her hands gripping his shoulders and pushing him back to rest against the pillowed headboard. He complied with her urgings, docile as a lamb, and she snuggled into his side, tugging the covers up to cover her belly but leaving her chest on display. She glanced up at him, her face suddenly so near to his he could feel the heat of her blush on his cheeks. Or perhaps that was just his own blush he was feeling. Reaching one hand up, she quickly ran her fingers through his hair, this time making it look as messy as she could, then tucked her head onto his shoulder, throwing her arm across his middle. 

“Um...you can come in now?” she called out, making her voice sound rough with sleep or arousal or both, probably. He was impressed with her acting skill. 

The double doors opened and a short, blonde-haired woman in her late forties entered the room. She wore a uniform of some kind, and pulled a trolley in behind her. She glanced at the two of them, interest flitting briefly in her brown eyes, before she cleared her throat and addressed Darcy. 

“Miss Darcy,” she began politely, “Miss Sheryll told me to bring you and your guest your breakfast this morning. She thought you might be overly tired from...traveling yesterday and would prefer breakfast in bed.”

Darcy swiped a strand of hair from her cheek, nodding quickly. “Yes, thank you, that’s perfect. Would you mind just leaving the trolley there? We, uh, we’re not  _ quite _ ready for breakfast yet.” The woman responded with a nod before exiting, closing their bedroom doors as she went. 

The tension in her body drained out as she slumped heavily into his side. “That was perfect, James. Good job,” she commented, patting his chest. 

“I didn’t--” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah it was perfect. You just sat there looking mortified and blushing about eight shades of red. That was Grandma’s maid, Jackie, and she’s notoriously gossipy. By now, I’d bet half the kitchen staff has heard about how she caught us in the middle of some early morning nookie.”

Bucky swallowed. “Ah.” 

“So...you wanna--”

“So help me, Darcy, if you ask me to practice kissing you again--” he began, flustered, but she cut him off with a tittering little giggle. 

“No, no!” she assured him, turning her face to smother another giggle into his chest. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to have breakfast.” She grinned up at him, nearly nose to nose with him and obviously pleased with herself. He narrowed his eyes at her, nodding once. 

“Okay great.” She moved to sit up then looked back at him. “Uh, could you maybe...close your eyes or something while I put my shirt back on?”

He cocked a brow at her. “Oh? Where’s all this modesty coming from? You didn’t seem to have a problem taking it  _ off _ in front of me.”

He was pleased to see her blush, ducking her head slightly. “Yeah, well, in the moment I wasn’t really thinking about it. But now...I just feel really...exposed,” she tugged the blankets up higher on her chest but he’d already placed a hand over his eyes. 

“Yeah, I bet you do. Probably because you’re  _ naked,”  _ he helpfully pointed out. 

“Har har, you’re sooo smart, James Barnes.” He felt the bed shift as she crawled to the other end of it. “Alright, you can look. I’ve put all the pretty parts away again.” 

Bucky’s hand dropped away. “If that were the case then I wouldn’t still be able to see your face,” he corrected, unfurling from the bed to go scope out the breakfast tray atop the trolley. “Or your legs,” he added absently as he surveyed the delicious spread. It looked like Jackie had brought them an assortment of breakfast meats, a couple omelets that made his mouth water, bowls of fresh fruit, and two carafes, one that smelled like coffee and the other that he guessed held milk or orange juice since it was cold to the touch. 

Darcy was conspicuously quiet and he glanced up over his shoulder at her to see her still seated on the bed, staring at him with an odd look on her face. She shook her head, as if clearing it of whatever thoughts she’d been having, and then hustled off the bed to join him by the trolley. 

They ended up piling their plates with food and sitting in the little reading nook in front of the bay window. They ate quietly, gazing out at the sprawling lawn beyond the window as the sunlight reflected prettily off the light dusting of snow that blanketed the grounds. Bucky appreciated the peaceful moment as it gave him time to sift through his thoughts about Darcy. Sweet, kind, beautiful, lush Darcy, who had finished her breakfast and was now sitting at his feet, leaning against his legs and chattering about her ideas of how they could spend the day. She really was a tactile little thing. 

Her hands were in her hair, futilely trying to weave it into a neat French braid. He noticed her struggling and reached down to bat away her hands, taking over and doing a damn good job of it, if he said so himself. 

Darcy faltered, briefly going quiet as he began to plait her hair, and then continued on with her prattling. “Anyway, I was thinking we could either go into town and see a movie or if you’d rather stay here, we could go to Grandpa’s shooting range that’s on the backside of the property and blow shit up.” 

His hands paused in her hair. “I like blowing things up,” he offered. 

“I figured,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Shooting range it is. I’m assuming you brought your own firearm?”

He snorted. “I’ve got an assortment.”

“So you brought the grenade launcher after all?”

“Not quite,” he said around a grin. “But close.” He reached out with one hand, tugging an elastic from around her wrist, tied off the end of her braid, and flipped it down over her shoulder. “All done.”

Darcy sprang up from where she was perched at his feet, hurrying over to peer at herself in the mirror that hung above the bedroom’s giant cream colored dresser. She made an impressed face, turning this way and that to inspect his handiwork. “Where’d you learn to braid like this?” 

“Thor taught me back when mine was longer, to keep it out of my face when we were sparring.” 

Darcy met his gaze in the mirror, a fond smile playing at her lips. “Aww, I love that guy.” He returned the smile because he couldn’t help it. He loved when she smiled. 

They took turns showering and dressing for the day, him in dark wash jeans, brown leather boots, and an untucked lilac button down, her in a burgundy sweater, combat boots, and jeans, and then they decided to divy up the contents of their suitcases into the dresser. Luckily the thing was huge so he got a whole drawer for the assortment of weapons he’d mentioned earlier. Darcy had given a low whistle when she’d seen all of his shiny toys lined up neatly in the drawer.

“You gonna let me play with any of that while we’re at the range?”

“Sure, I’ve got plenty to share,” he said, tucking a pistol into the holster at the base of his spine. “That one’s a grenade if you’re in the mood to really make things go boom.” He gestured at it with a nod of his head.  

She raised both brows. “Dude, my grandma would shit herself if she knew how much firepower you were harboring in her fancy ass house.”

He grinned wickedly at her, placing a finger over her lips. “Guess we better not tell her then, huh?” 

Darcy’s lips drew up beneath his touch and she nipped at the end of his finger. “Guess not.” 

 

***

 

The range was a lot nicer than he was expecting and a hell of a lot bigger, though he should have been used to the luxury of the Covington estate by then. It was an outdoor range that took up the better part of two acres of land, with targets of various sizes planted at varying distances backed by a ten foot tall berm. The firing line consisted of ten covered booths that attached to a small building that held a bathroom, an open air living space and miniature kitchen, and what looked like a lot of top shelf liquor.

Bucky eyed the alcohol warily, unsure that having it in the same place as firearms was such a good idea. Darcy followed his gaze as she pulled off her gloves. 

“Yeah, Grandpa liked to shoot and  _ then  _ drink. Uncle Richard is the one that likes to get liquored up before hand. It gets redneck real fast though, so Grandmother usually puts the kibosh on it by sending Charlie out to wrangle him up.” 

“The man who picked us up from the airport?” 

She turned to switch on one of the outdoor space heaters that were placed throughout the building and along the firing line. “The very same.” She moved to the next heater, stretching up onto her toes to reach it. Bucky set aside the gun cases he’d brought and helped her turn on the rest of the heaters. 

“He ex-military?”

“Yup. A Marine. Fought in Vietnam near the end of the war. Grandpa always liked hiring veterans and he and Charlie got along really well.” Having finished with the last heater, she pulled her knit cap further down her ears, stamping her feet against the chill. “They were both crazy old bastards in their own way.”

Bucky watched as Darcy rubbed her hands together, lifting them to the heater closest to her. Her delicate fingers looked thin and bloodless just from the short walk they’d taken from the house. The cold didn’t affect his body temperature, what with the superserum enhancements, so he was comfortable in just his wool peacoat. He reached for her hands with his flesh hand, pulling them close so he could puff warm air across her fingers, periodically rubbing them. 

“Thanks,” Darcy grinned, her teeth just starting to chatter. “It actually gets pretty comfy in here once the heaters have been on for a while. Just takes a minute to warm them up.” 

Bucky released her to unbutton his jacket. “Well, until then…” He opened up his coat in invitation with a questioning glance. 

Darcy hummed and nodded. “Yes, please.” She stepped into his open coat, wrapping herself around his torso and burying her face in his chest. Bucky pulled the ends of the coat around her as much as he could and wrapped his arms around her back. 

“Better?”

“Yes sir. Better than an electric blanket.” 

Bucky chuckled. “Glad I could be of service, doll--” he broke off with a surprised yelp when she slid her hands under the back of his shirt until her palms were nestled against the bare skin covering his shoulder blades. “Taking liberties, are we now?” He peered down at her with a stern look that was spoiled by the grin flitting at the corner of his mouth. 

“You didn’t seem too upset about my hand up your shirt this morning so I figured this would be alright.” Her cheeks pinked a little more, though it had nothing to do with the chill. “Besides, you said you like when I touch you. I’m just obliging you.”

Bucky lost the war with his grin, smiling openly down at her. “Hush, woman.” He reached up to grasp the back of her head, turning it so she was snuggled into his chest again and so she couldn’t see how much he was blushing.

Bucky released her once the heaters were doing their job. He set out his gun cases on top of the long table that ran along one end of the building, letting her browse through the selection he’d brought. 

“So what are you thinking, honey? Handgun or rifle?”

“Umm, probably handgun. That’s what I have the most experience with. Something that won’t make my wrist numb after shooting for half an hour, preferably.”

Bucky nodded, pulling a sleek black Glock from one of the cases. He handed it to her along with several boxes of ammunition and nodded at her to set up shop at the firing line. While she set up, he opened up a cabinet in the living area that Darcy directed him to which held several pairs of shooting glasses and earmuffs. He grabbed a set for each of them at random and returned to Darcy’s side. 

“How much experience do you have, exactly?” He watched her carefully as she loaded the magazine of the Glock and racked the slide.

She shrugged. “Enough to know how not to shoot myself or anyone else by accident. I’m not a great shot at longer distances but I’m a fair shot up to ten yards.”

“Mind if I watch you for a bit?”

Her shoulders hunched up around her ears. “Uh, dude. You are  _ legendary _ with a gun. You’re gonna make me all nervous and fumbly if you watch me. And nervous and fumbly do not mix well with guns, my guy.” 

“You afraid I’m gonna make fun of you or something?”

“I’m afraid you’re gonna look at me like I’m the biggest idiot you’ve ever seen.”

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning against the cubicle wall, and smiled. “I promise I won’t. Might give you pointers to improve, but I would never think you’re an idiot.”

Darcy rolled her shoulders. “Ugh. Fine.” She lay the gun on the little platform in front of her so she could put her earmuffs and glasses on and then retrieved it. She dropped into the stance that Charlie had taught her: feet shoulders width apart, hips back and torso slightly forward, and arms extended. She glanced at Bucky from the corner of her eye. He gave her a thumbs up and encouraging wink, to which she rolled her eyes. 

She picked a target that was in a fairly easy range for her and steadily began firing. The first two shots she missed terribly, but the third and fourth hit the targets with a metallic clang. She took a breath and then fired off four more shots at a target several feet to the left and a couple yards closer. As she grew more comfortable, she decided to test her skills, picking a target further out than the first two. Her next five shots were complete misses and embarrassment fired along her spine. She pinched her mouth in dismay and was just deciding on a closer target when she felt Bucky tap at her shoulder. She set her gun down and pulled one muff away from her ear. 

“Doll, where were you focusing when you were firing those last shots?”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “On the….target?”

Bucky made a low hum. “Okay, square up again for me. Aim, don’t fire.”

Darcy did as she was bid and jumped slightly when Bucky slid up behind her. He pulled her muffs to rest around her neck, and shifted her elbows slightly higher. Darcy was have some trouble focusing on her task with how close Bucky was. 

“You aimed at your last target yet?”

Darcy’s attention snapped back to the gun in her hands and shifted it slightly to the right, lining it up with the target. “Yup.”

“Alright, keep your finger off the trigger, but focus your eyes like you would if you were about to shoot. Okay? Now, tell me what is the clearest part of your eyeline right now. Is it the target or your gun?”

Darcy turned her head to the side to eye him. “It’s the target, duh. Can’t hit it if I’m not focusing on it.” 

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at her and used his pointer finger against her jaw to turn her face forward again. “Nope. Common misconception. Where your focus needs to be is right….here.” He reached around her and tapped the front sight of her gun. 

“What?”

“Once you’re aimed at the target, you gotta shift your focus and keep your eyes focused on the front sight. It’ll keep your shots tight and keep you from missing the longer distance shots.” At her skeptical look, he jerked his chin at her. “Try it,” he said, slipping her muffs back into place and then stepping away to watch. 

It was deeply unnatural, but she did as she was told, aiming at her target and then letting it grow blurry as her eyes focused on the tiny jut of plastic that was the front sight of her gun. It took her a minute as her eyes kept switching focus, but eventually she got it. She took a slow breath and then gently pulled the trigger on the exhale. There was a faint plink of metal on metal and Darcy whipped her head around to see Bucky grinning triumphantly at her. 

“Told ya so,” he mouthed and then gestured back toward the target. 

She emptied her magazine on the target without a single miss, reloaded, and took aim at a target even further out at Bucky’s urging. They kept pushing her distance limits until she was nearly cross-eyed and out of ammo. By the end, she was nearly giddy with her marked improvement. 

“Alright, I’m calling it quits,” she said. She double checked that the magazine and chamber were empty and then carefully replaced the handgun in Bucky’s case. He followed behind her, a bit of pride swelling in his chest. “What about you? I thought you’d be off blowing things up by now.”   
  


“Nah, having too much fun watching you. You’re the cutest pupil I’ve ever had. Your concentration face is adorable.” 

Darcy planted her fists on her hips with a little indignant gasp. “You take that back, Barnes. My concentration face is very serious and intimidating.”

“Oh yeah, sure, honey.” He nudged his shoulder against hers, gently moving her out of the way as he stepped around her and began assembling one of his rifles. 

Darcy watched him, her eyes focused on his hands as he deftly fit the pieces together. “You’re a pretty good teacher, ya know?” 

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a fleeting grin on his lips. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup. All patient and calm and...hands-on.” 

Bucky grunted, his attention on a fiddly bit of the machinery. “I try,” he muttered, making a satisfied hum when his rifle was all put together to his standards. With rifle in hand, he gave her a cheerful smile and edged around her to take up her place at the firing line. 

He started doing god knows what to prepare for shooting and Darcy took the opportunity to meander into the kitchen to see what was available. From her nosing around, she found that someone must have stocked the pantry and half fridge in preparation for the holiday. 

In the fridge there was bread and sandwich fixings, a gallon of milk, cream, eggnog, an assortment of berries, and some cut carrots and celery for snacking. She was pleased to find hot cocoa mix in the pantry, along with coffee grounds, cider mix, and a nice big bag of mini marshmallows. She opted for the cocoa, and began boiling the milk in a saucepan on the gas stove. 

She still had her ear muffs on, so when James began firing off shots the noise only made her startle slightly. She dug the biggest mug out and filled it to the brim, topping it with a tidy mound of marshmallows. She made a happy little hum after the first sip and traipsed over to one of the oversized couches in the living area, snuggling in and throwing a wool blanket over her legs. 

Where she was positioned, she had a clear view of Barnes’ backside and a partial profile. Overall, a beautiful sight. She smirked into her mug and was content to watch him obliterate the targets furthest out. He was mesmerizing to watch, all smooth and competent movement, blue eyes deep with focus, full mouth pouting slightly in concentration. Darcy shivered and she couldn’t even pretend like it was because of the weather.

 

***

 

They ended up having lunch at the range and then spent a good portion of the day wandering over the back half of the estate, passing a thermos of hot coffee back and forth as they went.  According to Darcy, her grandfather had insisted on leaving that part of the property to grow wild for the most part, thus leaving a small forest for them to wander through. 

“Grandpa liked trees,” she commented, smiling up at the bare branches that swayed overhead. “Said they reminded him of where he grew up in Texas.” A wistful look passed over her face and then she was sliding her little hand into his, as if that’s where it had always belonged. She turned her face to him with a grin and tugged him to keep moving. 

Bucky wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been the best day he’d ever had. Or at least the best day he’d had in a very long time. It was peaceful; just Darcy and the trees and the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet. And her hand in his. He never wanted it to end.


	8. If Only It Were Legal to Shoot People for Being Jerks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky meets more family members. Some he likes better than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning!!!!!!
> 
> There are some antisemitic statements made in this chapter that are in no way shared by the author. The characters that make them are quickly verbally eviscerated by an enraged Bucky Barnes who is really not having that shit today.

The following week at the Covington Estate passed fairly uneventfully. Darcy, with Sheryll’s help, seemed to find a multitude of reasons for them to stay out of the house during the day, running various errands together or showing Bucky the sights of Atlanta proper. All in all, Bucky was having a pretty decent time, especially on the days when he didn’t see hide nor hair of Darcy’s grandmother. As was the nature of most things, the good times could not last and five days into their stay, Darcy’s uncle and his ilk were due to arrive. It seemed they would all be converging on the estate at once, much like a swarm of locusts, with all the pleasantness that implied. 

The morning of their arrival dawned and Bucky would have known what day it was simply by the distinct change in Darcy’s personality. She was all sharp, fidgety movements, waking early in the morning and leaving him to peer over the barrier of pillows to find her place in the bed empty and long cold. He’d dressed and wandered the house and grounds to find her out in the massive garage that housed an overabundance of vehicles. Charlie was with her, poking around beneath the hood of a sports car that looked like it had been manufactured sometime between him falling off a train in the Alps and assassinating Kennedy, though he couldn’t really be sure about the time frame, what with his brain having nice large chunks of time missing. Brainwashing and being frozen for years at a time could be a real bitch like that. 

Even across the room, Bucky could hear the brittle edge of Darcy’s voice, though she was speaking lowly. There was a wariness to her, like that of a frightened animal. He recognized the look, the tone, having induced it in many of his targets over the years. Bile rose in his throat momentarily at the familiarity of it all. A small, ugly corner of himself that would always be tainted by the Winter Soldier purred in satisfaction at the flighty fear radiating off her. He nearly choked on the self-loathing that followed. 

_ Bastard. Bastard. Filthy, sick bastard.  _

His thoughts thrummed with the words, but he shoved them and the Soldier back into its repulsive little corner when Darcy’s lovely eyes met his and a fragile, but genuine smile overtook her face. He smiled back as best he could, coming close to wrap an arm around her back, drawing her in to kiss her forehead. He didn’t know if they were supposed to be pretending in front of Charlie or not. All he knew was that he needed to touch her, for her reassurance as much as his. 

She continued her conversation with Charlie, something about her latest project with Dr. Foster. He couldn’t really follow the conversation, too attuned to her body language to listen to anything else, but he was aware enough to recognize Charlie’s tactic of trying to draw Darcy’s mind away from what was very obviously disturbing her. Bucky wished he had the skills to do the same, but his tongue remained dull and lame inside his mouth. All he could do was stand silent watch over her, his thumb twitching up and down an inch long segment of her spine. She leaned into the touch and he had to be satisfied with that being as much comfort as he was capable of bringing her. 

He remained tongue-tied for much of the rest of the day, so he continued to rely on his hands to do the talking for him. Overall, Darcy did not seem to mind, as far as he could tell, and even took solace in the near constant soft, brushing touches he gave her throughout the day. 

The only reprieve Bucky had from the current of tension from Darcy came during lunch in the very unexpected form of a small boy by the name of Andrew. He was one of Sheryll’s youngest grandsons and couldn’t have been older than five, and seemingly had been placed next to Bucky at the dining table in the hopes that Bucky’s looming presence and foreboding reputation would quell some of the boy’s natural rambunctiousness. To Bucky’s bewilderment, Darcy’s delight, and the boy’s parents’ dismay, it appeared to have the opposite effect. 

Bucky had a forkful of broccoli halfway to his mouth when he felt impossibly small fingers probing at the metal plates that shifted at his elbow joint. Bucky blinked rapidly for a moment before investigating the sensation. The little boy was staring intently at his arm, face screwed up in a strange mix of indignation and blatant curiosity. He’d curled his left hand around the upper portion of Bucky’s forearm, steadying it as he tapped repeatedly at the sliding segments with the end of the spoon he gripped tightly in his chubby right hand. For a moment, Bucky was so startled by the attention that his mind blanked completely but for a sudden fascination with the way the boy’s hands dimpled at the knuckles. He’d forgotten about that aspect of small children, how their knuckles and knees and elbows were always dimpled with baby fat. His sisters had been particularly chubby babies and had carried the same charming dimples for several years past their babyhood.

He brushed away the strange flutter of nostalgia at the soft gasp of the boy’s mother. 

_ “Andrew,”  _ she hissed between her teeth, a mix of parental mortification and genuine fear at Bucky’s reaction to the rude intrusion. 

The boy thoroughly ignored his mother, his deep brown eyes rising from his inspection of his arm to lock with Bucky’s eyes. “How’s it work?” he asked, his small, lilting voice doing nothing to disguise the depth of the boy’s consternation at not being able to  _ understand. _ There was a small, nigh imperceptible shift in the region of Bucky’s chest and he laughed. It was a short, baffled bark of laughter but it felt good coming out of him and it held a sense of wonder that he hadn’t known he could feel anymore. 

At the sound, he felt the release in tension from the boy’s mother and he briefly met her eyes in reassurance before dropping them back to the boy, who was poking harder with the spoon now, having not been given a satisfactory answer quickly enough. Gently, Bucky removed the spoon from the boy’s grip and replaced it with his upturned hand, bending close over the appendage and creating a sense of intimacy to their conversation. He remembered that about children, how they liked being talked to in confidence, as if sharing the most basic of facts as if it were some great and important secret made the information become so. 

“Magic,” he lowly intoned. 

A deeply unamused look crossed Andrew’s ruddy face. “No, it’s not.” 

It took all of his considerable self control not to outright laugh in the boy’s face. “No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed with a tilt of his head. “How do you think it works?” 

The little boy had a rather thin, wide mouth but he scrunched it tightly to one side in what was obviously a very deep thought for such a small boy. “Like a truck,” he finally responded with a firm nod of his dark head. 

“A truck?”

“Yes. The parts that make it go, the ones under the hood, the engine and all the metal parts.” 

Bucky grinned in approval. “Like a machine, you mean?”

“Yeah. A m’sheen.” 

“That’s a very good guess, kid. Got it in one.” 

The boy smiled back proudly, making a small dimple pop up in the left side of his chin. It made him look like trouble and Bucky had no doubt that Andrew contained the capacity for mischief to back it up. The smile faded in favor of a confused frown as he eyed Bucky’s arm again. “But where do you put the gas in?”

Unfettered laughter filtered through him and it blended well with Darcy’s giggles behind him. “Uh, no buddy, it doesn’t run on gas. It’s tied into my nervous system and runs off the electrical…” Bucky trailed off at the furrow in Andrew’s brow, clearly not understanding. “It... _ I _ make it run, same way I do my other arm, just using metal and wires instead of muscles and nerves.” 

Andrew seemed to chew on this bit of information for a while before nodding, deeming it an acceptable enough answer. His mother stepped in at the lull in conversation, encouraging Andrew to finish his plate, which he did with a deeply put upon sigh. Bucky smirked and handed the boy his spoon back. 

The brief conversation with Andrew at lunch carried on once the meal was over. In fact, it seemed with Andrew’s probing inquiry, the rest of Darcy’s relatives under the age of ten had relegated Bucky to the position of entertainer. The parents of the children had disappeared fairly quickly after Bucky’s new position became apparent. He was now fielding questions from at least eight small children gathered around him in the more casual family room, while Andrew hung from his arm like a little monkey and two of the more adventurous cousins clung to each of his legs. Darcy watched from a nearby, oversized chair, her legs tucked under her. She still had a fragileness that clung to her shoulders but a dreamy smile flitted around the corners of her mouth. 

“Are you as strong as Captain America?” one of the girls clinging to his legs shrilled up at him between breathless giggles. He kicked the leg forward in an exaggerated step, making her giggle even harder.

“Who Stevie? Stronger. I could still kick his tail from one end of Brooklyn to the other. And I’m twice as fast.” This declaration was met with laughs and a few objections from the older boys surrounding him, who he had no doubt had Captain America action figures and bedsheets back home. 

“Yeah but that’s only because you’ve got metal armor to protect your arm! Captain America only has his shield and sometimes he has to throw that and can’t protect himself!”

Andrew turned his head sharply to the cousin a couple years his senior. “It’s not armor, stupid. His arm got ripped-ed off from when Captain America dropped him! Right?” he asked, turning to Bucky for confirmation. 

Bucky winced. “Steve didn’t exactly drop me, buddy. He was trying to reach me when I...when I fell. But you’re right about the arm coming off.” 

A mixed chorus of disgust and fascination met the statement. One of the shyer female cousins quietly asked if he’d lost the whole arm or just some of it, like the man that lived under the bypass near her home. 

Bucky pointed at a spot on his bicep just above the elbow,”The fall, um, tore it off here, but they took off a bit more when they were doctoring me up and putting on the arm.” He indicated a spot about halfway down his upper arm. 

Andrew, still hanging from his forearm, tapped the spot. “Cool,” he marveled with that low intonation of awe that little boys reserved for creeping crawling things and open wounds. “Did it hurt when they cut you up?”

The bluntness of the question caught him off guard and he heard the slight inhalation of Darcy’s breath across the room. “Well, yes.” He swallowed hard. 

“Did you cry?” Andrew asked quietly, almost shyly. 

“I-I, well, I don’t entirely remember, it was a long time ago, but...yes. I think so.” 

Andrew seemed almost relieved by this confession. “You got any scars from it?”

Bucky flinched, but nodded. He hesitated for a moment and then reached across with his flesh hand to tug at the collar of his shirt until the ripple of scars around the plating were visible to the boy. Andrews eyes widened at the sight and then he abruptly released his hold of Bucky’s arm, dropping to land on the thickly carpeted floor. He bent over, hurriedly pulling up the pant leg of his little khakis to show a long, gnarly scar that ran nearly the entire length of his shin. 

“This is my scar,” he announced with some degree of pride and then gestured for Bucky to come closer. He obliged, bending at the waist until the little boy was able to cup his hands around his mouth and whisper solemnly into his ear. “I cried too.” 

The confession made something crack in his chest and Bucky very nearly cried himself in that moment. 

 

***

 

“Do you know how Andrew got that scar?” Bucky asked Darcy later as he was pressing his pants in their bedroom before the evening meal. Darcy was watching him from the bed, a hint of humor shining from the depths of her eyes. It likely stemmed from the fact that he was just in a dress shirt, underwear, and dress socks while he ironed his pants. He was too anxious about meeting the high standards of the rest of her family to give much thought to how ridiculous he looked at that moment. The mindless, rote motions helped soothe his ragged edges, which was why he’d forgone having one of the maids press them for him. He appreciated the monotony of it. 

“I’m pretty sure he fell out of a tree last year and the bone broke badly. They had to go in and do some kind of surgery a couple times, maybe even rebroke it to get it to set right.”

Bucky grimaced. “Poor kid.”

“Yeah, he couldn’t walk for most of last year. In and out of casts and in a wheelchair for a lot of it.” Darcy was quiet for a moment. “You are...surprisingly good with little kids.” 

The iron hissed as he lifted it to set it aside with a shrug. “As good as anybody else.” 

A tight smile framed her next words. “Better than me, my guy. I’m not great with kids. They’re...foreign and I’m never sure how to handle them.” 

Bucky’s brow ticked up. “Kids are easy. Just think of them as little adults with a severe lack of filter or common sense.” 

She made a face, her nose scrunching up and mouth turning down adorably. 

He chuckled softly at the expression. “What? They’re not so bad. Don’t you think you’ll have kids someday?” 

She made another disgruntled face but it softened as she seemed to really ponder the question. “ I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not. It’s not exactly on my radar now. Or ever….Maybe...in an alternate universe  _ where Steve leaves you on my doorstep for a few months and we fall in love and get chased by Hydra and get married and eventually have six kids together…” _ The last half of her statement was mumbled softly to herself, though she seemed unaware of what was spilling out of her mouth. Or that he had the capability to hear it clearly. 

Bucky stared at her stolidly. “...What?”

She blinked and seemed to snap back from whatever strange place her brain hand wandered off to. “Nothing. What?” 

They blinked owlishly at each other until Bucky shook his head, a bemused grin pulling up his lips. He let the subject drop, reminding himself that she was under quite a lot of stress and the lion’s den that they were about to enter was likely making her lose a bit of sanity. 

 

***

 

They heard Richard Covington and his family long before they saw them. Darcy’s tense body was tucked tight to Bucky’s side as they made the slow procession down the main stairs and over towards the formal parlor. From the open, ornate French doors, a boisterous male voice spilled out to accost them. There was a haughtiness to the tone, a cruelty to the man’s overly loud laughter in response to his own joke. He felt Darcy flinch beside him, followed by a bodily tremor as they stopped just out of sight of the room’s occupants. He could almost smell the animal fear seeping from her pores. 

It was wrong, all so wrong, her fear and these wicked people that sparked it in her. He felt helpless as he watched the play of agonized emotion contort her face until she’d reigned it into some horrible placid semblance of acceptance. She looked up at him with a bland smile that didn’t even come close to reaching her empty eyes. 

He panicked. 

That’s the only justification he had for what he did next. 

She was already tucked under his right arm so it was nothing to turn and shuffle her over to the wall, covering her body with his. His posture started out as something protective, an ingrained command for the Soldier to be a shield for persons of far more importance than Hydra’s trained dog, feet planted wide, shoulders bowed over to cover as much of Darcy’s torso and vital organs as possible. He caught a glimpse of wide, blue eyes before he was ducking his head and pressing his mouth to the soft column of her throat. There was nothing particularly protective about  _ that _ movement, but he was running on adrenaline and instinct, feeding off the tension that had been humming over his skin for most of the day. 

Darcy made a soft mewling noise at the light scrape of his teeth at the base of her throat, the sound ringing in his ear and her flighty breath stirring his hair. She tensed and he very nearly pulled away, but in the next moment she was melting against him and pulling him closer by his belt loops. He lavished slow, aching kisses along her neck, tongue dipping into the hollow of her collarbone and dragging up to the point of her chin. She shivered and hummed, the tension of the day slowly uncoiling from her body until she was sagging against the wall, held up by his hands pinning her hips to the wall and a flimsy attempt at sturdiness from her knees. 

He drew back slowly, the panic emptying out of him like bathwater down the drain only to be replaced with a strained anxiousness over what her reaction would be. He met her unsteady gaze and the smile she gave him was sunny and dazed. She absently slid her fingers through the short hairs around his ear, settling her hand at his neck. His pulse leapt beneath her thumb and surely she would call him out on his feelings for her at any moment. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing uncomfortably. Her smile crept wider and she opened her mouth to address him but was interrupted by a cleared throat. 

“Really, Darcy? Have you no class?” 

The airy, feminine voice had a natural grace to it that was unfortunately ruined by the thread of cruelty that wound through it. Darcy’s eyes deadened and the bright smile faded to a grimace and a resigned sigh. “Nope,” she replied between gritted teeth. “Good to see you, Nancy.”

Nancy made a delicate scoffing noise and breezed past them, entering the parlor. Her genteel voice could be heard joining in with the conversation still tumbling out of the open doors. Darcy sighed wearily, rubbing the heel of her palm into her forehead before levelling a look at him. “Better gird your loins, James. It’s showtime.” With that, she slipped out from between him and the wall and gripped his hand, pulling him into the parlor. 

 

***

 

Stiff introductions were made in the parlor and Bucky got his first good look at the more unsavory members of Darcy’s family. Richard, like the majority of Darcy’s family, was tall, though he lacked the more refined bone structure that the others had inherited from Genevieve. He was barrel chested, further aiding a voice that already carried more than was strictly necessary. He was pudgy with thick fingers that held several heavy gold rings that made his hands look even more over-sized, and they had a habit of grasping a tumbler of dark liquid at all times. His nose was a red, bulbous monstrosity that came from years of heavy drinking and his beady, brown eyes peered out from a paunchy face, entirely too close together and giving him the look of a man that might swindle you out of your wallet if given the chance. 

In stark contrast, Nancy was, in all fairness, absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was dark, sleek, and straight, though it was several shades lighter than Sheryll’s near-black locks, and shot through with natural caramel highlights. She was tall for a woman, dwarfing Darcy by several inches, and slender in a graceful, willowy way with slight, long-fingered hands that fluttered like pretty birds when she spoke. Her high forehead and large, hazel, doe eyes gave her an air of innocence. It was a shame that such loveliness masked a mean streak a mile wide. Her tongue was sharp, darting out to cut at Darcy in little ways that were so artfully buried beneath pleasantness that it took careful study to detect the poison that was slowly starting to build up in Darcy’s veins as the evening continued on. 

As cruel as Nancy was to Darcy, she was just as effortlessly charming to the rest of the family, breezing from one family member to the next. She had the social grace of a politician’s wife, and all the insincerity of one as well. Her husband, Mark, the illustrious surgeon that she could not seem to stop bragging about to anyone who would listen, did not share her sociable nature. He was content to stand in one spot, tersely answering any questions that were fielded his way with barely concealed boredom and nigh contempt, as if he were the most intelligent person in the room and  _ knew _ it. He was conventionally handsome in a bland way; square-jawed, tall and trim, with dull, neatly trimmed hair the color of dirt. His eyes, however, were a startlingly pretty green framed by long black lashes. Bucky couldn’t help but notice that those eyes tended to avoid his lovely wife and were wont to linger on Darcy. There was a greed to the gaze and it made his skin crawl. 

Mark was eyeing Darcy with one of those looks from across the dinner table while his wife prattled on about some invaluable service she had rendered to their church the week prior, something to do with organizing some charity event, and making sure to mention the praise their pastor had heaped on her. Darcy’s attention was held by a spear of asparagus that she was dutifully pushing around her plate with her fork, which Bucky was thankful for. He had seen her shudder in disgust more than once at catching Mark’s gaze on her. 

Without much thought, he settled his hand on her thigh, squeezing gently in a show of solidarity and pulling her from her sullen thoughts. She glanced up at him, flashing him a weary smile. Their eyes caught and held for several beats. 

“And what about you, Sergeant Barnes?” Genevieve’s voice cut through the room. At his look of confusion, she clarified, “Nancy was just telling us all about their new church home, I was wondering which church you belonged to?” 

There was a trap being set in the haughty words. He could sense it in the wicked gleam of the old woman’s eyes and the way Darcy tensed beside him. He cleared his throat, but lacking the skill of navigating such treacherous waters, he opted for straight honesty. “I don’t really have a church that I attend now, but I grew up Catholic.” He shrugged, somewhat apologetically. 

Genevieve’s mouth pinched for a moment before relaxing into a snake-like grin and directed her comment to the table at large. “Well, he’s not Protestant, but at least he’s not a Jew.” The statement was made primly but it was met with ugly laughter, mainly from Richard and a few of his sons. Nancy hid a delicate laugh behind one hand, her eyes darting to Darcy with relish. 

Beside him, Darcy seemed to be folding in on herself, her head hanging low over her plate and avoiding looking at anyone. Her reaction to the admittedly callous statement puzzled him for a moment until he remembered her mentioning once that her father was Jewish. Rage bubbled up in his veins, hot and thick and sticky, as he realized Genevieve’s cutting statement for the venomous ridicule that it was meant to be. 

Carefully placing his dinner knife back on the table so as not to bend the metal, he turned his attention back to Genevieve. He smiled back, but it was more a slash of menace than a true smile. 

“Yes, lucky for me I’m not a Jew or I’d be dead and ash in some concentration camp in Europe. Lucky for me I wasn’t Jewish so when the Nazis captured my regiment, I was experimented on and made stronger--strong enough to be alive and sitting with you  _ lovely _ people today seventy years later--instead of starved and beaten and tortured until I was nothing more than a living skeleton. Lucky for me.” His eyes felt hot, glowing in his skull like embers. The dining room was so silent that he could hear Darcy’s shallow breaths. He had their attention, so he decided to drive the point home. “We cleared one of those camps once, you know. It was close to the end of the war and the Nazis could smell the defeat and ran like cowards. Not before they cleaned house though. When we got there, there were so many bodies...Just piled up. Didn’t even take the time to bury them. Bodies so thin, so starved, so fragile, you could see every bone.” Bucky’s voice was shaking now, trembling with unrepentant anger and the horror of memory. “We buried them. All of them, and there were dozens. Took us three days to do it, because we had to be so careful moving them or they’d just...fall apart. The children were the most difficult. I’d never seen such tiny, delicate things, all with stars on their chest and numbers inked into forearms no bigger around than a twig. But thank God I was born into a Catholic family,  _ right? _ Unlike those innocent babies.” 

The silence that followed was a heavy one. From the corner of his eye, he saw Andrew’s mother draw him close to her side, her hands sifting through his dark hair. She looked stricken, as did several other members of Darcy’s family. Sheryll was noticeably teary-eyed and dabbing delicately at her nose. Genevieve and Richard both looked as if they had swallowed manure but were trying to pass it off as chocolate cake. Nancy’s big cow eyes looked deeply upset, though he could read the lie of it in the set of her mouth. Mark looked like he hadn’t heard any of it and was just ready to be anywhere else but at a table with his in-laws. 

Sheryll cleared her throat and sniffled slightly. “Thank you,” she began, holding his eyes in her steady gaze with more warmth than he had seen from her yet. “Thank you, Sergeant Barnes, for your service to this country and the dignity with which you attended your duties.” 

There was a rumble of agreement from those around the table. Bucky felt his cheeks warm at the sincerity in her gaze. He couldn’t hold it for long before he dropped his eyes to his plate with a mumbled thanks. After that, the conversation around them fluttered back to life, but Bucky kept his eyes downcast, not really seeing anything, until he felt Darcy slip her hand into his. She squeezed it, twining their fingers together, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He pressed into the softness of her lips, his eyes fluttering closed when she whispered, “Thank you,” into his ear. He nodded brusquely and brought her knuckles to his lips briefly, before releasing her and picking fitfully at his dinner.    
  



End file.
